Close your eyes. What do you see? An image? A scene? Simply the dark and abyss before your eyes? All I saw for years was the dark. I saw the shadows and the end approaching. I saw all of the things I feared the most. The monsters in the woods with their unjust forms roaming of our lands and tearing it all asunder. The parting of the love of my life. The way he left me alone with my – our – child. The sheer petrifying terror if the death of my daughter should come to pass. More than anything, what terrified the darkness behind was my eyes were the Orion.

When I had my daughter, when I held her in my arms for the first time and looked in her eyes, I knew in that exact moment that I would do anything to protect her and shield her from harm. Her eyes were like her father's eyes – a perfect deep blue reminiscent of the twilight on the horizon as the suns set. The way she sneezed and how it pinched the bridge of her nose. Even her smile seemed to come from her father. Many of her features were like his – almost too many. The only piece she seemed to have of mine was a fragment of red mixed into her dark brown hair, making a silky auburn that curled and frizzed with a will of its own. Yes. Nothing would prevent me from keeping her safe, not even the Orion.

They – the Orion – are the giants of the land. They more often than not kept to themselves and don't trouble us. Leaders, men, and women of far more intellect than I, bartered and treaty with them to ensure we were protected. There were clear boundaries between our lands and theirs, separated by massive bodies of water. The most beneficial thing about the Orion was their level of intellect and the seriousness of a vow to them. Even if there were savages among them, their leaders kept them in check with their strength. After all, there could be savages anywhere, but being an Orion gave the distinct advantage of size.

They were terrifying and knowing of their advanced intellect was not reassuring. The Orion truly were immense. If you stared across the water long enough on a perfectly clear day to some of the nearby islands they occupy, you could see them. They could probably touch the heavens if they leapt high enough. Immense trees sometimes did not reach the tops of their heads. Their hands could entirely engulf you if you were small enough and they were large enough. Just the notion was bone rackingly terrifying.

I had never seen them personally, but I heard enough stories to develop a healthy respect and fear of them. Besides, there were other and more important things to worry about than whether or not an Orion would cross the waters to their lands or not such as the daily struggles of survival.

My… situation… left me as a young mother of one with not even a single sheqel to my name. My daughter's father… was no longer a part of my life – by his choice alone. I had to make ends meet somehow and took odd jobs here and there to keep us afloat. I found several promising jobs as a maid and nanny to a few families who possessed mild importance in the small city we lived in; that is, until they found out about my daughter.

Having a child and being widowed with a child is one matter, but it is another matter entirely of baring a child with no father to name them. Small towns were easier to drift through, but cities existed for people who wanted nothing more than to blend with the shadows and forget their pasts, which is exactly what we did with the few sheqels we had saved.

Things were easier when my daughter was an infant and even when she began to take her first steps. As she grew and became a rambunctious child, however, she needed more in order to live. We both did. It became more apparent as the years went on that I needed to work harder, longer, if I were to provide for the both of us.

The issue was where to find positions that paid well when I needed to tend to my daughter. Transient positions and hard labor were easy enough to come by, but they could be dangerous, and the coin was not worth the labor. The only true benefits for these positions were that I received no questions about my daughter and that she could stay by my side while I worked.

For a time, it was wonderful. Sure, I would stumble back to my cot, my daughter by my side, and collapse from exhaustion. My hands would be torn up or I would be covered in bruises from the day's labor, but the way Terrilyn, my daughter, curled against my body and babbled on about whatever fascinated her made it all worth it.

This ended when some of the other nomadic hired hands cast lingering glances at myself and, more importantly, my daughter. I needed an alternative. I needed to keep Terrilyn safe, but there were few places that would allow me to bring my daughter with me to my place of employment.

It was settled. After weeks of debates with myself, only one real solution presented itself to me. I knew what I had to do.

It nearly broke my heart, and in many ways it did, but I had to go work in the city and leave her. She wasn't alone. She was with a farming family who ran the inn we lived in until it was time for me to leave to work. The family was a kind one and looked at Terrilyn like one of their own. They had young children as well, and I felt like I could trust them.

I still remember the day I left. I looked my daughter, the most important person in my entire life, and gave her a kiss on her forehead and on her lovely, tear-streaked cheeks. I promised her it would only be for a little while. I promised I would be back as soon as possible with enough money and a job that would let us be together. I put on a stiff upper lip and smiled at her until she smiled back at me. This image imprinted itself into my mind and in my heart.

Choking back tears, I turned and began my long walk to the city.

I meant everything I said, but it was more difficult than I could possibly have imagined.

I visited as frequently as I could, but more often than not I only had enough to send the family Terrilyn's room and board in my stead. I received letters from time to time, but they were read to me by the old bookman of the city. He is an honest, well learned man. He has forgotten more than Time has learned, and his name is Caster Veil.

The jobs in the city were less labor intensive, but still paid poorly. I wasn't returning to my cot with bruises and injuries, but it was still exhausting.

The most recent letter Caster read to me said that my daughter has grown so very much, and she needed more room, more food, just… more. She was growing and thriving, taking up several helpful skills to manage the farm and the inn, but it wasn't enough to negate what she needed, what they all needed, to survive.

I was at my wits end when Caster came to me the way kind, elderly men do in that grandfatherly way and informed me that there was a position that had just come open. He was made aware of it because he was one of the senior members on the counsel who understood the position, and he was also tasked with finding someone willing to fill the position.

Naturally, seeing me in my state of mind, he simply wanted to let me know about this position. To this day, I don't know why he initially approached me with the position. I didn't get the sense that he was trying to take advantage of me. Perhaps he saw my desperation. Maybe he was tired of dealing with this position. After some thought, my final suspicion was that he saw something in me.

Maybe he saw that I needed strength. Perhaps he wanted me to grow in my confidence. In the end, I believe he saw something in me – a kind of empathy and curiosity that would change my life.

Caster informed me that the position paid three times what I could make holding two of my current employment locations. The old bookman told me that people did not hold the position for long, and I knew immediately why when he told me.

The position was that of a Factotum – a general servant – and the Factotum was to tend to a prisoner who had been apprehended on the boarder of a few territories. The prisoner was accused of terrorizing some of the western lands and even burning some of them down. Many people lost their lives because of the prisoner.

I remembered when this happened. I heard of such things several years ago when my daughter was so very young. The prisoner was tried and convicted by our council members, sent to rot away in one of the city's dungeons to live out the rest of his days. The task itself did not seem so monumental on the surface, but I hesitated to accept because I remembered the most important thing about this prisoner.

The prisoner was an Orion, one of the giants, known as Steele Veyne.

And…

Despite this fact…

I accepted the position, heaviness in my heart, as the Orion's Factotum.