Yu was dead tired, closer to putting an “and” between the two words than he had ever been, even on those cursed Snowtrail nights.
He dragged himself up to the second floor. His body ached, his burns screamed, his stomach twisted, and his mind felt like a clogged drain; half of his thoughts stuck somewhere in the murk, and the other half spilling into unknown territory. He could no longer work or walk or talk or think. Not now, and not in one hour. The only thing that kept him from collapsing on the stairs was the idea of collapsing into his bed instead.
Somehow, he made it to the mattress. He sat, but there was no sense of comfort.
For a moment, he looked around.
There was nothing to look at.
What would be perfectly adequate for anyone not raised in his rich shirka’s estate, with basically an entire floor to himself, was horribly cramped for Yu. Low ceilings, ugly stone walls pressed so close together that he could cross from one to the other in five steps, and, centred above the bed, the tiniest window he had ever seen — if that definition still applied, with how thick, distorted, fogged and hail-scratched the glass was.
The overall theme of the room was STONE. The bed was nothing more than a protruding slab, its head and foot merging with the opposing walls. Its stiffness was complimented with a mattress so thin and sagging that you could easily confuse it with a flat spread of dough, or perhaps a slightly-more-solid-than-average sheet of yellow paper. The desk was placed across from the bed, and apart from its size, there was absolutely no difference between the two: it was a miniature slab of the same grey, oppressive rock, jutting out from the corner beside the window. It was too small for anything other than a finling, or perhaps a mianid. The narrow wardrobe was a hollow cabinet made from stacked stone blocks. The only real piece of furniture was the tall mechanical clock. Its rhythm tick-tacked into Yu’s skull; the sound like claws hammering against a beak.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Dear Travellers,
I hope you are able to enjoy the season in whatever way feels most fitting to you — whether that is in the company of family and friends, or, if you are spending these days alone, in finding a measure of solace through something that brings you quiet joy.
Thank you, truly, for being here, whether on this website of mine or on Royal Road — whether you share your thoughts openly or read in silence. Your presence, both seen and unseen, is something I appreciate deeply, and it continues to give me reason to write.
I will not be travelling this winter. Instead, I will be spending a few quiet days at home, still recovering from an injury, and continuing to rewrite the opening chapters of Glass Wizard. It feels like a fitting way to bring the year to a close: unhurried, reflective, and quietly hopeful.
There is a thought I return to often: that we are shaped not only by those who stand beside us in our everyday lives, but also by people we may never meet — through shared stories, small acts of kindness, and moments of connection that cross distance, generations, and circumstance. In that sense, communities such as Royal Road matter. Over the past two years, I have been fortunate to encounter many wonderful readers and kind writers here.
Thank you for walking this path with me. I wish you peace, happiness, warmth, and moments of gentle light this Christmas.
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