At this point in my story, I am ten years old. Jeriah had convinced Mot and Spark to stop going on the offensive against Dianite. Mianite and Ianite were suffering terribly from the lack of mortal help, and nobody would listen to me.

"You don't know what you're talking about," the devil Jeriah had said. "You're only ten. When you're older, you'll understand." I was sick and tired of being told I couldn't have a legitimate opinion, just because I was younger. After all, my age didn't stop me from being put in this life-or-death situation. My age didn't stop my town from being burned down, and my parents killed.

"This isn't something that Mianite can handle alone!" I tried to explain. "He's not being selfish. He needs our help! You would understand if you bothered speaking to him about it!"

At which point, Jeriah told me that I was making stuff up to be in a fight. He patted me on the head like I was a dog, and told me that life-or-death situations weren't games, and that a fight against Dianite was much more serious than a fight against a zombie.

Life-or-death situations aren't games. Of course, Jeriah, keep talking. I'm sure you have had a lot more up-close experiences with death than I have. But obviously you're right, because you're older, and the opinions of minors are invalid.

"We don't want to be the ones doing the gods' dirty work, now do we?" Spark had said to me. "We aren't their slaves, after all. It's their fight, not ours."

"Saving them from being killed isn't doing their 'dirty work', Spark!" I had yelled, unable to believe that an old man, who was supposed to be wise, was oblivious to this.

"We're not saving them from being killed by attacking them, silly," he almost laughed at the idea. "Plus, if Dianite takes the offense, we'll fight back. It's simple."

"By the time he takes the offense, the gods will already be harmed!" I cried out, exasperated. "It'll be too late by then!"

He shook his head. "Does it matter if the gods die? If they pass away, they can come back. If we die, we can't." He seemed to be getting bored of the argument.

"If Dianite has enough power to kill both of them, there's no way they'll ever be able to come back!" I was on the verge of screaming. "They're gods! The entire world's survival depends on them!"

He chucked slightly. "You're getting too worked up over a situation you have no say in. How about you do what a child is supposed to do, for once? Shut your mouth, and respect your parents and elders." With that, he dropped the conversation, walking away while shaking his head and muttering something to himself, no doubt about how terrible children these days were.

Of course, you say that now. Wait until the land is rotting and everything and everyone is dead. Then, I'm sure this conversation will be labeled as a "miscommunication". Or, better yet, they would've claimed that this conversation never happened, and I was a happy little girl making flower crowns throughout her childhood.

But probably the worst conversation was the one with my dad. Mot, who knew what I had been through, and was supposed to listen to me and take my opinion into consideration. Isn't that what a good parent is supposed to do?

But not only did he believe my opinion wasn't valid, like Jeriah and Spark did, but Mot refused to hear what I had to say at all. "Alyssa, I believe that you are a good person," he said. "I know that all you want is what's best for the realm, and for the god you've gotten very attached to. But you have to understand that you aren't skilled in battle. The last person we should be getting advice from in a serious situation like this is an inexperienced ten-year-old, you hear me? Perhaps when you're older and understand better, you will be allowed to contribute to these plans."

"So you're not even going to hear me out?" I shouted, about to burst into tears from how unfair it was. "What if I have a good idea that could save this land from being destroyed? What if my idea actually saves more lives..."

"Alyssa, hush," he said firmly. "I know you want to be the hero. Everyone does. But now is not the time, okay, sweetie? You're ten. When you're older, you'll see that life and death are much more serious than you assume. This isn't one of the games you played with Andor."

Memories of my old friend felt like bullet wounds. "At least Andor bothered to listen to me, when we were alone together in Dagrun. I could tell him the things that you people didn't bother to listen to."

He sighed. "Andor was a child also. There were terrible things happening in both of your families' lives at the time. The small problems you kids had were of no meaning to them. I thought you were old enough to understand that."

"Small problems?" I was livid. "Have you forgotten..."

"I don't have the time," Mot interrupted. "I have to discuss matters with the adults. Go play princess with your flower crowns or something. Maybe you can get Redbeard to join you." And then he was gone.

Small problems. Small problems. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Back in Dagrun, I had told him all about how I had helplessly watched everyone I knew and love burn in a fire. Clearly, Mot had forgotten about that. Andor had told me about his emotionally abusive father, and how he and his sister lived in constant fear of their grandmother's unpredictable actions. But yes, of course, Mot. Small problems. Like a broken flower crown, or that it was raining and we couldn't play games outside.

Why couldn't Mot understand that I wasn't a normal kid? I may have been ten, but I didn't have the mind of a typical one. I was forced into growing up too fast. Difficult situations had been constantly pressed onto me, tearing apart my happy life. And yet, they expected my mind to remain the same.

I had even wanted to grow up. When I was younger, I was told the same things, and it didn't really bother me. I just tried to make myself grow up (mentally) faster, so I could understand what they meant. Obviously, this was a mistake. Now that I was older and could understand, they were used to me being an oblivious little kid who thought of nothing but play.

Now that I was older, I could see that adults weren't the perfect people I had thought them to be. All of them had very large flaws. Suddenly, I didn't want to be grown up anymore. Seeing what the world was really like was very depressing.

And, of course, I still partly had the mind of a child, so this was very overwhelming. Seeing the flaws of the world for the first time, in the people you had trusted and looked up to for so long, was no easy thing to deal with. And, at ten years old, I felt like I no longer wanted to live in a world like this.

But I suppose that's the price of growing up.