He Who Fled

The Peace Before the Storm

DO NOT OWN BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA.

​​​​​​In fact, I am not entirely sure how medieval returns plays out. I'm going off pictures, the actual footage of it, and my imagination. Speaking of pictures, I don't own those either unless specified. AND HOLY CRAP WHOEVER DREW THIS PICTURE IS FREAKIN' BEAUTIFUL!!!!!

Days are dull, you know? Each passing day's movement smoothly rolled across my eyes; with those blinking memories, things grew into a state of cosmos. No real definition between what has happened, and what is currently happening. The line was blurred, as one would put it.

And no, don't think I'm not happy with the way things are, I'm actually quite content, in other words I've accepted most of everything, horrible living standards or not. It's a dull and cruel way of living, yet it's a preferably peaceful one, well as peaceful as you can get for peasant farmers. Still most definitely preferable, compared to what's currently going on. War, as most people would put it, is rampaging across grass and dirt, mountain and rock.

I just wish things had a spark, or rush, of excitement every now and then.

But besides the point, morning's coming, and I think it's about time to wake up.

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The usual crowing broke through the still air. The crack of dawn was like a whip, for it shatters across horizons and stirs that which would prefer to stay stagnant.

Silence, bless it, was once again in the air, before another caw from that blasted rooster compelled me to rouse, though the heaviness of my body still grounded me against the thin, dirty sheets and pillow I had rested on. I mumbled and fidgeted underneath my blankets, tossing to the side in a now futile rest.

I knew, so very well, that chores are chores, and they're necessary parts of my life that keep me alive and kicking, but the lull of my blankets wrapped around me just felt so relaxing, even with the sweaty stickiness-

"(Y/N). Get up. Chores are chores." Ah yes, I do know that, I was actually just now rambling about that in my mind, father-

A pain flared on my shin, and stiff as a soldier, I sat up. A grimace crossed my face, angled specifically at my father for kicking me. He just chortled, turning his back and leaving out the door of the small cruck house. He was a jolly man, jollier then most other farmers at least. As most know, or should know, every peasant was assigned, and forced to pledge allegiance over a Bible to a Lord. Subsequent precautions were taken with either one of the dukes, earls, or barons who had ownership over that part of the Lord's land.

It stung at my heart to know that we were practically servants, but, I was raised with it, and rebelling would be pointless seeing as I would most likely die on my own. Predators were everywhere, not just the animals.

Glancing around the grimy room, a thought occurred to me. A faint, shallow thought that would never be fulfilled in my life time. One were, I rebelled against the order, being free willed, like the fantasized robin hood everyone wishes were real.

A soft chuckle resonated in my throat.

A shallow thought indeed.

But, nonetheless, daylight is burning, and with a stretch, yawn and rise of my body from my bed, it was to the kitchen I strolled. As stated before, this house was nothing special; just one room with a kitchen jutting off the left side of the straw walls, dirt floors a main aspect of each room. The thatched rood of hay was the completing thought to a peasants abode. In fact, most people with the status of peasant, didn't even have a kitchen.