❝𝑾𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏.❞
— 𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐄𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐘
꧁꧂
THE CITY: THE STAPLE OF HUMANITY'S INGENUITY AND ACUMEN. Where the brightest engineers designed marvelous inventions that were once deemed solely imaginable, where the most astute doctors practiced medicine and cured the incurable, and where the best artists displayed their work, whether through a painstakingly crafted musical composition comprised of euphonious harmonies and enticing rhythms, or a literary masterpiece written to evoke the strongest sentiments from the even the most cold-hearted. Yet it appeared to be completely ordinary— so ordinary one would not presume that this was the world's center for innovation at a first glance.
Flowers of all hues flourished in the sunlight, bulbs bursting in a splay of color, and meticulously trimmed trees wavered in the wind, standing in the median strip of greenery separating opposing lanes. Birds cooed from their nests, and dogs of all breeds skipped around, ears perked and snouts sharp. All was relatively mild.
Valé biked around the Square, her braid bouncing on her back as she circled around the bandstand and past the peeling, iron benches erected equidistantly from one another. She raced past a variety of people— a dark-skinned, curly-haired man in a suit carrying an instrument case, a cluster of girls strolling around in the company of an older woman, the gorgeous afternoon sun shining upon their defined cheekbones and copper complexions, and a woman whose luscious, sable locks perfectly framed her tanned features as she placidly sipped at her limeade, her lips pursing around the rim.
In the background stood a superbly constructed building, its giant, gilded principle doors facing eastwards. Multiple wings composed the structure, two of them facing the Square. Behind the grand doors and lion sculptures ruled the Council, the Republic's ruling entity. Tucked away in the Dome, the center of the Wing, the Council convened to uphold the City's greatness, spending long hours poring over proposition after proposition. It also housed the Republic's largest cathedral, which was exclusively reserved for celebrations and sheltering purposes, if the times called for so.
Taking too sharp of a turn, Valé skidded and tumbled to the ground, a leather journal rolling out of the basket and landing on the ground with a thump. She winced when she crashed against the pavement. Wounds from a similar crash the week before reopened, tiny drops of blood peeking through the narrow openings in her skin.
"You're so reckless." She looked up from the ground, finding her friend standing before her, holding two cups of mango sorbet topped with tamarind shavings. He'd tied his dreads back into a ponytail, and a golden cross hung from the chain around his neck. A cockatoo was perched on his shoulder, puffing its chest as its beady eyes darted around. "You good?"
Valé nodded. "Mhm," she assured. She straightened and accepted a cup from the boy. "Thank you so much."
He smiled winsomely at her. "It's nothing." They spun around and settled on a nearby bench. Valé adjusted the hem of her embroidered dress, smoothing out the material over her thighs and knees. "How's everything going? Doing anything fun this weekend?"
"Mhm," she hummed, sucking through the tamarind coated straw. "We're all going swimming, me, my parents, and my brothers... my cousins might come along, too." The bird nipped at her braid before squawking loudly. "Hey!"
The boy flicked its beak. "Be a little nicer," he reprimanded. It repositioned its footing on his shoulder. "Sorry, he's just been petty recently. He bit my sister the other day- ouch!" The cockatoo had clamped down on his finger for a second before releasing it. Valé giggled. "Alright, buddy, I think you need to go on a walk." Exercising caution, he removed the bird and set it on the ground. "I swear to God, he hates me."
"I'd be angry if I had to be on your shoulder all day," Valé cracked.
"Oh, you're so funny-"
BOOM.
Everyone had frozen, sporting an array of stunned expressions. The raucous clique of college students had pacified, and for the first time that day, the vendors had ceased their hollering. An old man sitting on the bench across from them had closed his book, looking around curiously as to what caused the noise. Valé and her friend exchanged a look, confused and startled.
"What was that?" the boy asked, speaking barely above a whisper. Valé contemplated the question. It'd been months since the yearly carnival, and City ordinance banned the sale of pyrotechnic products the day after, and nobody was dim enough to toss around firecrackers in broad daylight. Perhaps it was one of the agricultural facilities on the outskirts that had exploded? No, the sound couldn't have originated from there, they were right in the center of the City. Nothing from the countryside could be heard so deep within.
So, what had happened?
An eternity passed, and activity ushered back into the Square, everyone resuming to what they'd been doing beforehand. "That's odd..." the boy commented before shoving a spoonful of sorbet into his mouth. Valé picked up her cup, too, helping herself to a bite of the sweet. "What do you think that was?"
Valé shrugged as she gulped down a mouthful. "How am I supposed to know?" Her friend licked the tamarind shavings from his spoon. "What do you think-"
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
This time, the explosions had increased in volume, and the ground rumbled beneath her sandals, the trembling coursing through the bench. Instead of the silence that had seized everyone moments ago, a unified sense of alarm had arisen, and people began to squall at each other, neighbors calling on neighbors, vendors calling on vendors. The booming had drawn almost everyone from their homes, people leaning over their balconies or peeking from their doors.
Another blast resounded through the Square: the squawks of a disorganized flock of birds, all hailing from the same direction that exploding sounds had originated from. Their wings worked tirelessly to carry them westward.
A group of teenaged boys scampered from the avenue and into the Square, tanned faces drenched in perspiration, stricken with unparalleled consternation. One of them, whom Valé distinguished as the boy's older brother, sprinted towards them, their unsteady heaving becoming louder and louder.
The brother swiped his sorbet from the boy, hastily scooping a bite through his lips, cracked from exertion. "What are you doing?!" her friend clamored, annoyed. His brother sniffed as he handed the cup back to the younger. He tried saying something but was rudely impeded by a hacking cough. "What?"
"They're coming...!" he rasped through coughs. "They... got through...!" He planted his hands on his knees, nearly hurling. "Countryside's wiped. Plowed clean hours ago. They're coming...!"
"Who's coming-"
A barrage of gunfire rang through the air.
Men clad in beige uniforms rushed into the Square, large, bulky rifles at the ready. Unlike the people of the Republic, most of them shared matching features: pale skin and light eyes, the heights averaging the two-meter mark. They stormed into the Square in droves as small, but menacing clouds of beige, exuding malice and pure depravity. The rapid plodding of their boots reverberated through the City, informing its residents of the impending calamity.
The invasion had thrown everyone in a panic, men, women, and children scrambling into neighboring roads. Valé and the boy shot up from the bench, forgetting their beverages entirely. An explosion rumbled through the City. At the sight of peril, the cockatoo — which for the most part had remained calm — sailed in the air, screeching as it evaded danger.
It soared through a tree and towards the burning afternoon sun, ivory wings beating down on the wind.
BOOM.
The flapping of its wings ceased, and for a moment the bird was frozen mid-flight, its feathery appendages suspended in place. Its beak stayed agape, releasing one final caw before commencing its halting descent. Falling, and falling, and falling... until it at last completed its descent.
Its body landed on the ground with a muted yet strangely deafening thump. Alabaster stained in a grim ruby, the bullet reduced to a bloodied lump of feathers on the ground. No longer did its dark tiny eyes dart about, as they were now steady on the beautiful sky it sought to soar in. With the bullet had gone its flair, its arrant squeaking and flippant chest-puffing. No longer was the cockatoo a nuisance, a feathered squawking machine with a mind of its own. It now represented something abstract, something so profoundly embedded within her that it was indistinguishable.
Valé was glued to the rumbling ground, her eyes locked on the frightening scene playing before her. She struggled to cope with the information. Everyone in the State had known they'd been occupying lands other than their own. That they'd been devastating entire populations, pillaging and destroying for their own gain, conscripting the people they subjugated. But not once did it occur to Valé that they'd eye her homeland, where everything she cherished and loved was, where she spent her mornings in the classroom, afternoons in the neighborhood square, and evenings in the sand. The City was her place of being, her identity, everything she thrived for.
And they sought to name it as their own. To desecrate it in the name of conquest and imperialism. To vanquish a people and its culture, a culture that'd developed and prospered over centuries.
All for some rocks and good soil.
The boy shouted desperately at her, tightly grabbing onto her hand and tugging her back and away from the source of danger. She stared dully at the incoming men, so consumed by the consternation churning in her chest that her friend's pleading had diminished into an indiscernible mumble.
And it was on that day, she realized.
"Valé...?"
Life, as they'd known it, would change.
"Valé, come on!"
For the worst.
"Valé!"
꧁꧂
Valen startled into consciousness, blood pulsing so steadfastly she feared it'd burst from its veins. Bedding clenched in clammy fingers, the tendons of her hand ached tenderly, and so did her toes, which had curled on themselves in slumber. Licking her lips, her tongue picked up on the odious, nose-scrunching bitterness of blood.
But nothing compared to the discomposure that ensued. The chilling of her skin, the edginess snaking around her bones, the feeling of disconnection from the world she lived in, reality slipping through a sieve.
It scared Valen.
Her brown eyes adjusted to the darkness, skimming from corner to corner, ground to ceiling as they discerned the shapes of various items positioned around the room: a small, charming bureau which held nothing, the nightstand beside her bed, a couple of chairs for a table that could hardly seat one, and her duffle bag sitting on the ground against the leg of a chair.
Once her vision had accustomed to the minimal lighting, she noted how the sunlight dimly peeked through the curtains. Scooting closer, she used her fingers to part the curtains and sneak a glance at the world beyond, greeted by the thousands of buildings that encompassed the Trost District. The little of the sky she could scope had taken on a rosy color from the impending sunrise; the rest was obstructed by a ginormous Wall that curved around the District, sealing them from the vermin that wandered beyond the gates.
Like yesterday, a memory bubbled from the most obscure corner of her mind, more vivid than before. A deafening crack of lightning on a clear day, the shuddering of the ground, her ailing body smashing against the wall she leaning on. Then limping to the door, seeing a cloud of steam backed by an orange sky.
It was scary how much the Fall had shaped her dreams.
The memory quickly blurred, vanishing until summoned again. Not that it was a bad thing, necessarily. Memories only weighed one down, distracting one from the things that truly counted. They could not banish her hunger, quench her thirst, or shelter her from the brutishly crisp cold of winter, nor the unforgiving incalescence of summer.
That's what she thought.
Valen unsnarled herself from the thinning cotton blanket to reach over to her nightstand, wriggling her fingers to grasp onto a pocket watch she'd placed there the evening before. She neared the timepiece to the window to read the time. 6:37 a.m., precisely.
Crawling back to her headboard, Valen plopped the clock back onto the nightstand and planted the bottoms of her feet on the ground, sticking to the ground. A disgusting sensation. But she refused to linger in bed when her hair stuck to the back of her neck, when her tossing and turning had warmed the bedding too much for her liking. Considering she was already dirty, perhaps she could stop by the gymnasium like she had yesterday evening, even if she still twinged from all the exercise. Energized, Valen stood and bounded for her a bag, unbuttoning her shirt as she did so.
Because her stay in Trost would be short, she'd chosen to keep her belongings in her bag, including the shorts, long-sleeved shirt, and shoes she changed into. The bandages, though, she'd stolen from the infirmary. She scuttled to the nightstand for her hairbrush, whacking something over as she was searching for a band and some pins.
A labeled, ceramic bottle.
Valen cursed under her breath and nimbly picked up the bottle and inspected it in the light, hoping to find no sign of damage. Her sleeping pills: her only line of defense against her nightmares. They'd been prescribed to her as a Cadet when she'd been forced to consult a doctor, which was after she'd roused everyone in the bunkhouse from her screaming. Arguably one of her most disgracing moments as a Cadet.
Not arguably. Definitely.
Though no one would enter her quarters, Valen pushed up her pillow to tuck the bottle in its case. As she nudged it into the pillowcase, she noted how they lacked their tell-tale rattle. She shook the object in her hand, frowning when she was answered with silence. Valen twisted the cap and stuck a finger inside, discovering not one pill remaining. When was the last time she'd taken a dose? A day, maybe more? She struggled to recall. They hindered her memory, so much so that her memories as a teenager had degenerated partially.
Instead of snuggling the bottle into the pillowcase, Valen tucked it into her bag, concealing it from sight. No one needed to know of her medication.
Pills hidden, Valen grabbed her brush. She braided her hair into two braids of equal length, twisting them around one another to form a clean, low bun at her nape. It was a struggle, styling her hair in the morning, but it was better than a trafficker tugging on it and dragging her someplace unknown. She'd learned the hard way when she was enjoying an afternoon stroll through the neighborhood as a fifteen-year-old. Since then, she'd always braided and pinned her hair before an outing.
Valen returned the brush to the nightstand. Usually, she would have made the bed, too, but with so much sweat on them, she'd need to wash them. As self-centered as she was, she would not dare to subject anyone to the disgusting task that was washing someone else's laundry.
But that was for later. Right now, she needed to get working.
Traversing the corridors, Valen trod as lightly as she could, as she were walking on clouds. The lighting was no better, her eyes depending on the dimly burning candles mounted on the walls. As sneaky as she was, every noise was amplified by the stone she walked on, the one that walled around her.
Valen refrained from touching the rail descending the stairwell, and she entered the main corridor of the barracks' ground level, finding herself the only one around. She listened closely for the characteristic rustling and morning conversations, the clinking of dishes. No one except her was up, it seemed, and it ushered a sense of calm. There was nothing she cherished more than an empty corridor on a summer morning.
Located at the end of the passage was the gymnasium, its large doors making themselves known. She enjoyed what lasted of the morning's serenity before striding through its doors, stepping inside. Since she first wakened, the sun had risen more, the beams of sunlight casting themselves across the walls and floorboards, thousands upon thousands of motes hovering in the light. As if some warmhearted god was seeking to recompense for her brusque awakening, not a single person was to be seen, and the whole gymnasium was at her disposal.
Something nice in a world reigned by misery.
Valen surveyed the gymnasium, spotting a punching bag someone had forgotten to put back the night before. Before starting. though, she primed her muscles with the usual: stretching, followed by fifteen laps around the gymnasium, along with a couple of minutes of various activities, too, which for today was a set of lunges.
On her second lunge, all she thought about was the strength springing through her muscles and bones. She loved the feeling. It was all she dreamed of when she was younger, to run for days on end through fields of berries, to bend her body in the supple way a swan did. It wakened her mind, cleared her thoughts, and took her by the hand, guiding her to a paradise only she envisioned.
Her limb warmed, Valen did one more lunge before ambling, almost sauntering towards the punching bag, hips swaying. Valen kicked her shoes aside, to be remembered on her way out. She started simple, shaking her hands thoroughly before balling them and striking crisply, like a snake attacking its prey. Like she normally did during training, she evaluated herself, figuring what'd she done well; and what she'd done not so well.
And this was what Valen enjoyed most while training.
Seconds dragged on, her mind and body devoted to the punching bag before her. As she practiced, someone else had entered the gymnasium, surprising her: who else was up and going at such an early hour? Though she was conscientious that she was sharing the gymnasium with all of Trost's personnel, she wished she could practice on her own, oblivious to the presence of another.
She already despised them.
Her ears picked up the jingling of what could only be keys. Punching the bag, Valen peered through her peripheral vision to check who'd popped in. A stocky young man was unlocking the doors to the gymnasium's storage room, his eyes and nose partly obscured by bangs of nicely trimmed, black-like-midnight hair.
As he hauled his own punching bag, Valen faced away from him. Though her legs had remained largely uncovered, people tended to overlook her when they couldn't see her eye-to-eye. Which was stupid of them, she believed. But she used others' stupidity to her advantage. How else did people think she got so far in life?
Landing a roundhouse kick, she cursed herself for not bringing her blade. Of course, she could be punished for holding a weapon on base, but she was the only one she could depend on for protection. Nothing about the man inspired security in her.
Then again, nothing about anybody inspired security in her.
Keeping her guard, she divided her senses between the swinging bag and the man across the gymnasium. Like she'd been doing minutes ago, he was warming up, too, going through rounds of crunches, push-ups, pull-ups, nothing too special. Not once had he looked in her direction, a first for her: up until now, every man she'd shared a gymnasium with would stop and ogle her. She'd feel their shameless stares on her figure, from her thighs to her bust. But no. It was like she belonged in a dimension other than his, disguised behind a magical curtain that secluded them in their own realities.
Still, she disliked him for entering the gymnasium.
On his end, the man rose from the ground after pushing through his crunches, getting ready to use his bag, too. If he was from the Garrison as she assumed, there'd be nothing special happening. Just a moron messing around in the gymnasium, pestering others.
THUD!
Had Valen been slightly more tired, she would have jumped at the sound. Judging from the volume alone, he'd used a highly advanced technique, something Valen concluded may have taken years to hone and develop. She wondered, what brigade did this man belong to? No soldier from the Garrison could do something as well as he did. As far as everyone was concerned, the Garrison consisted of drunkards who could barely wield the swords they carried.
THUD!
Not trying to give the impression she was fascinated, Valen continued training, but keeping the man in her view. She stolidly observed every swing of his, dissecting the turn of his torso, how he manipulated his strength. Perhaps it was because it'd been epochs since she'd seen a person as skilled as she was, but it was amazing, she thought.
In the spirit of competition, Valen raised her leg and deftly swung it.
THUD!
And everything stilled.
Though she'd turned fully from him, she could sense his gaze darting to her. Had they widened in wonder? Blinked in confusion? Narrowed in annoyance? Any reaction was alright with her.
All she wanted was to make a statement.
A thump blasted through the gymnasium, this time, a punch that resonated as loud as the kick that'd preceded. Curling her fist, she emulated the motion in a fashion akin to his. Trying to discreetly behold his reaction, she turned slightly towards him. Like an animal that'd crawled too close to dangerous territory, she was trapped in place, her eyes locking in on the ones staring at her from across the gymnasium.
And there, the game commenced.
꧁꧂
In minutes, they'd gone from strangers to adversaries, no words needed to express the tenseness unraveling between them. A strained call-and-respond, but the simple, blandly repeated melodies replaced by a syncopated stream of thudding and thumping that crescendoed to no determined ending.
Valen pushed herself to the extreme, straining to correspond to the conviction flaming in her. Every strike, every kick, carried an ardor, an ardor invoked by the man. The only thing she wanted was to come out on top, prove that she wasn't a random nobody who battered punching bags for no reason. That she had purpose, strength.
Kicking for what she felt was the thousandth time, the bandaging she'd strapped around her foot had dirtied from the sheer amount of times she'd banged her foot against the punching bag. Along with the unbroken string of thuds, groans, and creaks, her heartbeat drummed in her ears, seemingly increasing in volume every time she smacked the sack. The idea of flopping on the ground and crawling her way to the communal showers tempted her enormously.
But this was a battle she would not cede to.
With all the strength she could muster, she swung her fist at the punching bag, which shuddered in response. The steel frame it hung from moaned from its incessant swaying, and the rusting chains it dangled from threatened to crack apart. She sneakily nursed her hand, which by now, throbbed a bright red. The friction between her hands and the bandaging had dried her knuckles.
Like for the past few minutes, Valen anticipated the same dry thwack. Maybe the man would finally cede and depart from the gymnasium. Instead, a chain jingled before clattering on the ground, the rustling of fabric coinciding seconds later. Valen shrewdly glanced over her shoulder, and her nostrils flared.
He'd fucking unhinged the whole thing.
Valen's stomach quivered as her pride crumbled, plummeting to the ground in millions of jagged pieces. How in any way could she surpass that? Not that she was weak — she was far from weak — but she had limitations.
Or did she?
Valen doubted whether it was conceivable. Her body nearing its breaking point, she was coming close to depleting her energy. The lack of calories in her system became evident, her head lighter than cotton, bothersome vibrations running through her abdomen.
But it was better than giving up.
Valen shifted her weight, and with not a single ounce of energy spared, she-
"Good morning...!" a man thundered warmly, accompanied by the sound of opening doors. Valen stiffened in place, started by the sudden intrusion. Turning around, the Commander had been the nuisance in question. He donned his uniform from yesterday, but his bolo tie shone more brightly.
Valen changed her posture, straightening her back and unfurling her hands, allowing them to dangle at her sides. Erwin stopped, equally distanced between her and the man. "What brings you both to the gymnasium so early?"
"What kind of question is that?" the man responded, ticked. It was the first time she'd heard him speak. His words held a grave resonance, lined with authority and mild displeasure. How he'd replied to the Commander surprised her, too; seldom anyone addressed a man of his status in that manner.
Thinking the Commander would react adversely to his implied insolence, Valen expected the man to scowl before reprimanding him, but instead, he beamed and chuckled softly. "I guess it was a senseless question to ask," he replied, amused. Erwin flashed Valen an identical smile. "I presume you have a similar reason."
"Yes."
"It's always pleasing to see a young soldier making good use of their time." Erwin gradually, but surely nosed out the suspense he walked in on. "Ah, I see you both aren't properly acquainted," he said.
Wasn't it obvious?
"Valen, I'd like to introduce you to a close and cherished colleague of mine." He gestured to the man. "This is Captain Levi of the Scout Regiment. He is known among the people as 'Humanity's Strongest'."
Humanity's Strongest.
"Captain, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Valen Ferreira," Erwin said, continuing the conversation. "She graduated first in her division and has recently enlisted in the Scout Regiment."
Humanity's Strongest had been far from what'd she expected. Word of him had reached the training grounds, her younger, bright-eyed colleagues discussing him when the Scout Regiment was brought up, some gushing over him, others wholly uninterested by his existence. Levi interested her, but not exactly in the traditional way a man interested a woman. Because after years of dull, easily won spars, there was an opportunity standing before her.
A chance to become stronger than ever before.
The Captain regarded her dubiously, his eyes scanning her up and down, but more so suspicious than debauched. "Has she?" he questioned, quietly.
"Yes."
Levi crossed his arms. "And what reasons does she have for joining the Scout Regiment?"
"Reasons my own," Valen answered, rigid. His questioning tone poked at her composure. There was nothing she hated more than a nosy person who asked too many questions. Nothing. "Why did you join the Scout Regiment?"
His expression soured as if he'd helped himself to a basket of rotting apples. Valen's eyes stayed on his, feening for an answer from the man. Whether he'd oblige, she'd see, but clearly, he'd disliked having his own poison being dished to him. "Reasons my own," he responded soberly.
"Valen is a woman of few words, you'll come to find," Erwin chuckled, "but no less thoughtful. It's a shame we're departing from Trost so soon. We could have had dinner tonight together. That way, we could all get properly acquainted." He clasped his hands behind his back, looking to Levi. "I try to respect my colleagues' personal time as much as I can, but I'm afraid you're going to have to end things early, Captain. Our meeting with Commander Pyxis has been moved earlier."
"Of course it has..." Levi grumbled. It sounded like the mentioned man lacked punctuality. Strange for a man of his ranking.
"Valen, it was a pleasure speaking with you. My apologies for interrupting," Erwin said.
"No need, sir."
Erwin smiled. "Understanding as always, Ferreira." His eyes flickered to Levi again. "Well then. We should be going."
"Right." As he followed the Commander through the gymnasium, his eyes fixated on her, considering her with intrigue and pique. Valen raised her chin and broadened her shoulders in a display of might, unmoving from the ground beneath her.
Nobody scared her. Nobody.
꧁꧂
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆
Hello, everyone, and Merry Christmas (Happy Holidays to my fellow non-Christians)!
So, this is how everything starts! This is going to be the start of a very (I guess I could say) confusing journey. I am still making changes to the story even now that I'm publishing, but those are things that happen later on. Okay, but like I'm excited. Never thought I would get here writing-wise.
Also, reading through the first chapter, I did make a couple mistakes here and there, especially in Erwin's section of the chapter because I added that chunk in at the last minute (I was supposed to end things with Valen wiping her hand off on her leg). Every now and then, I will occasionally come back and clean up mistakes I have glossed over in the editing process.
Your support is everything to me! Even if you're having a glance, I still really do appreciate this. Again, I cannot stress how genuinely nerve wracking writing this story was. I'm on version, what, seven? Eight? I just figured everything out in August. This wasn't even supposed to be an enemies-to-lovers thing. But here we are: enemies-to-lovers.
All this being said, happy holidays, and take good care of yourselves!
Con mucho amor,
C.