At Transvitae.com, our mission has always been clear—to uplift, showcase, and provide a platform for every aspect of the transgender community. From news and advocacy to personal stories and creative works, we strive to be a space where transgender individuals can share their voices without limitation.
One of our early contributors to the Nerd Vortex section, Val’lyn De’ana, has been a passionate writer, bringing insightful perspectives to gaming, fantasy, and storytelling. Recently, she approached me with a request—could she share some of her short stories on Transvitae? I didn’t hesitate for a second. This is exactly what TransVitae is about.
Val’lyn intentionally jumps around her character’s timeline when writing her stories. “That’s how I find the heart of her,” she told me. Each short story illuminates a different moment of growth in Val’s life—some quiet, some harrowing, all transformative.
We’re honored to share another of those stories with you now.
I. The Boar on the Table
The kitchen smelled of blood.
Not fresh, sharp blood, but thick and coppery, tinged with smoke and iron and the memory of something once alive.
Val’lyn stood across from El, the old half-elf kitchen worker who had taught her more about surviving Waterdeep than any schoolmaster ever could. Between them lay a massive wild boar, half-scorched from roasting, its hide peeled back and its muscle steaming.
She had been expecting bread duty. Chopping roots. Washing pans. Not this.
El grunted as he adjusted his grip on the heavy cleaver. “Watch close, Val. This part’s about respect.”
She furrowed her brow. “Respect for the dead?”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Respect for what damage we can do with our hands and what we choose not to.”
She blinked at the carcass. Her fingers curled in on themselves. I don’t know if I want to know what my hands can do.
II. Lessons in Flesh
The cleaver came down not with force but with precision. El found the seam in the shoulder and slid the blade through, not cutting muscle but following it. The bone popped free with a clean twist.
“Most people think it’s about strength,” he said. “But it’s not. It’s about knowing where to press.”
He handed her a smaller boning knife. “Your turn.”
Val’lyn hesitated. “What if I mess it up?”
“Then the cut’s ugly. Doesn’t change what we’re here to learn.”
She stepped forward, pressing the tip of the blade to the exposed meat. It resisted, firm and sinewy. She pressed harder, unsure.
“Feel the grain?” El asked. “Follow it, not against it. Muscles want to pull a certain way. Let the blade ride that pull.”
Slowly, she adjusted. Her hand steadied. The knife slid more easily, tracing a path between fibers.
It’s not so different from unpicking a seam, she thought. The tension, the layers. Just… bloodier.
“What happens if I go the other way?” she asked.
He reached over, tapping just above her knuckles. “There’s a tendon right there. Twist wrong, and you tear it. In a person? That’s the difference between pain and paralysis.”
Val’lyn blinked. “You’ve done this to people?”
El didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gestured for her to keep going.
“I’ve seen enough to know which parts break easy. You don’t have to kill to stop someone. You just need to understand how they’re built.”
Understand first. Choose second. Remember forever, she added silently.
III. The Power of Precision
The boar’s chest was open now, ribs exposed, organs long removed. El pointed at the ribs.
“Thrust here?” he said, tapping lightly between the bones. “Straight into the heart. Fast death.”
He moved his finger an inch lower. “Here? You miss the heart, hit the lung. Slower. Cruel.”
Then he traced a line along the shoulder. “Here, and the arm won’t lift for days.”
Val swallowed hard. “So small a difference…”
He met her eyes. “That’s what makes it powerful. And dangerous. When you know what your blade can do, you have to decide every time if you’ll let it.”
She looked down at the knife in her hand. It no longer felt like a tool. It felt like a choice.
“You’ve felt that before, haven’t you?” El asked.
She nodded slightly. “A few times. In the alley. At the market. Sometimes I move faster than I think. And afterward, I wonder what would’ve happened if I didn’t stop.”
“That wondering? That’s what keeps you human.”
But what if someday I stop wondering? she thought. What if someday I stop caring?
IV. A Blade in Her Palm
“Go on,” El said. “Try the shoulder joint again. Follow the line.”
Val’lyn leaned in. Her grip shifted, mimicking El’s. She traced the curve with care, angling the blade slightly inward. It slipped between the socket and the muscle, severing it with a soft pop.
She smiled despite herself. “It’s like… unlocking something.”
El chuckled. “Exactly. Bone’s a door. Muscle’s the frame. Get the angle right, it opens.”
They worked in silence for a while. The kitchen heat built up around them, but Val’lyn didn’t notice. She was too focused—on pressure, on tension, on the strange and fragile logic of the body beneath the skin.
At one point, she nicked a thick white tendon. It bled slightly.
El reached over, dabbing it with a rag. “That one’s important. In a fight, slice it and the arm drops. No killing. No screaming. Just done.”
She frowned. “But it’s still harm.”
“Yes,” he said. “But sometimes it’s the kind you walk away from.”
He stood behind her then, showing her how to roll her shoulder so the blade followed through more naturally. “You’re not strong, Val—not in the way others are. You don’t need to be. This is your strength.”
Val’lyn exhaled. “Knowing how. But choosing not to.”
Even if they never see it. Even if they call me weak.
El didn’t reply. He just nodded.
V. Blood and Choice
By the time the boar was reduced to orderly cuts and stacked joints, Val’lyn’s arms ached. Her tunic stuck to her back. But she stood straighter, eyes sharp, fingers relaxed around the hilt of the boning knife.
El wiped his hands and leaned against the table. “You’ll remember this one day.”
Val’lyn looked up. “You always say that.”
“And I’m always right.”
She paused, then asked softly, “Why teach me this? I’m not… a soldier.”
He smiled gently. “You don’t have to be. But the world doesn’t care what you are. One day, someone might try to hurt you. You’ll have a blade. And you’ll have to decide what kind of person you are.”
She looked down at the steel in her hand. For the first time, it didn’t feel like something foreign. It felt like a question.
“I don’t want to kill,” she whispered.
El nodded. “Then don’t. But know how. So no one can make you.”
I want to be the kind of person who walks away.
VI. The Notes in the Margins
That night, Val’lyn stayed late in the kitchen. The others had long gone. The fires were out, the smell of blood replaced by cooling broth and ash.
She sat on the counter with her journal open in her lap, her legs swinging slowly above the floor. Her fingers were stained. Not with ink—but with memory.
She sketched the shoulder joint first, labeling the direction of movement and the ligament paths. Then the hand, the elbow. Places where force changed meaning. Where cutting one inch off course could decide someone’s life—or spare it.
In the corner of the page, she wrote: Not for harm. For understanding.
She closed the journal and stared at her reflection in the knife. A face too young to carry so many lessons. But here she was. The kitchen was silent.
And she didn’t feel alone.
THE END
Val’lyn’s journey is shaped not just by battles fought, but by choices made before the blade is drawn. If this story moved you, share it, reflect on it, and come back for more glimpses into a life lived between shadow and clarity.
