The Scythe and the Seer, Book 3 of the Enchanter's Cycle

Kaileena told him everything; her upbringing, her servitude in Fusestu, Shinabi’s death, her discovery of Arteth and her flight from the Colossus, then her time with the Kodama, Lenao, and the confrontation with Yokai. She told him of her bouts with the matriarchs, her travels to the east, the final, terrible price for her life, and of her marriage to Arteth, Prince of Moonshadow. By the time she was finished evening had nearly passed and the flames had died low.

Ken’ichi was speechless. The silence stretched nearly as long as her story.

“I have faced a Dracolich in open battle...” he said breathlessly, “And I smote him as the last of my strength ebbed, but never, not ever, could I possess such courage as you. I would never have done half of those things, let alone suffer as you had and keep my sanity. I bow to a strength far greater than my own.”

“Suffering is universal.” Kaileena replied dryly, “Anyone can endure pain and survive. In fact, most do. I hardly consider that any more of an accomplishment than to face another in battle. I have performed no great feat.”

“But you have.” Ken’ichi protested, “Bards will sing praise of your deeds, never you doubt. You will be-no, you are a hero!”

“I didn’t come here to be named a hero.” Kaileena replied icily, a surge of unexpected anger swelling in her chest, “The concept means nothing to me.”

As if to testify her point, a fresh burst of power from the Phoenix Stone finally pushed beyond her mental defenses. Her left index finger crackled with energy, disintegrated, and reformed itself before Ken’ichi’s exasperated expression, the raw Fifth Element coalescing and converting into the molecular structure of the missing digit.

She didn’t even flinch from the pain; after her transformation physical pain hardly registered anymore.

“I came here because I’ve lost so much in my life, one thing at a time; my friends, my family, maybe even my soul.”

Kaileena gasped as Ken’ichi stopped her, leaning into an embrace, his arm about her neck and their foreheads pressed together. He smelled like smoke and leather, and his skin, while appearing soft from afar, was coarse and thick. He felt like a warrior, like Arteth.

“I don’t know who or what I am anymore...” she confessed, fighting for breath, “And all I see are those I’ve lost. Those I fear losing. I can’t live like this anymore...”

“You have your mother’s fire.” he said gently, squeezing her, “I know nothing of the Phoenix Stone, but here, now, I think that I know you. It’s alright to be afraid.”

That horrible despair threatened to blanket her completely, but she relaxed in his grip. He meant well.

“If you don’t want to be a hero that’s just fine by me. You can stay here with us and be whatever you want to be. As far as I’m concerned you’re home now. Let’s wait in the main hall for your aunt and cousin, and I can also send for your grandparents tomorrow. They can likely be here within the week.”

Rinshi sat beside her friend’s bed in his room, waiting. The medic had patched Koukatsuna as well as could be done on the training field, and the district physicians had seen to his needs more fully upon being carted inside.

So much blood... She had no idea how he’d survived that wound.

“What am I going to do...?” she asked herself, hands covering her face, “I’d hoped that my arranged husband would at least be kind. What...what, am I to do? That man is a monster.”

Koukatsuna offered no counsel, and she sighed, “Mother wouldn’t listen if I asked for another suitor. She wants me to bear children for a man of great influence, and Atsushi is the most prominent noble who’s shown interest. How did everything go so badly, so quickly?”

Cursing her selfishness, Rinshi took hold of Koukatsuna’s hand, “But who am I, despairing over my troubles when you’re hurt? I’m so sorry, Koukatsuna. I never meant for this to happen.”

“Worry not...” Koukatsuna replied in a scratchy voice, his healthy eye opening halfway, “I certainly had it coming, letting that prick get under my skin so bad. I was supposed to bow out with grace.”

Elated, Rinshi hugged him as strongly as she dared, and he gasped in pain, “Easy, easy.”

“Oh, Koukatsuna...” Rinshi groaned, “You fool. You kind...noble fool.”

“What’s all this?” he asked, lazilly scratching his snout, “You try to strangle me in bed, and then you insult me? How rude. Well, I still forced him to sink to my level. The soldiers certainly didn’t like that. I was looking. Maybe dear ol’ mother will get you somebody else.”

“Not likely.” Rinshi replied, then paled when the realization struck her, “You planned it that way? All along?”

He gave a devious, self-satisfied smile, “People never give me any credit... I might not be the brightest but I know strategy well enough; never would’ve become an ultimate warrior if I charged in without an idea of what to do. The moment I figured out who he was and what he said to you, I sprang my trap. Hells, I wanted to be rid of my swords anyways. I could have fought him and won, but even if I’d won I would’ve made him look like a victim.”

He chortled, “This way he looks petty and dishonorable, with a couple of swords that’ll eventually drive him or his benefactor mad. I get rid of them, once and for all, and you get another husband-to-be. Everybody wins..well, except Atsushi, of course.”

“Perhaps Mother will reconsider...” Rinshi conceded, breathless, “One can hope, at least. I- ...Thank you, for doing this for me. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Koukatsuna seemed to puzzle over this for a while, before shrugging, “You can always smile a little more. This life is too short not to enjoy it. I was a damned slave most of my life and I have more optimism than most of you grim, brooding, sulky Humans.”

“Yes.” Rinshi replied, relaxing a little, “Father had told me something of you...before he...never mind. I have no idea how you kept yourself through something like that. You’re certainly stronger than me.”

“Strong?” Koukatsuna asked, “I would call it stubbornness, but I get your point. No, don’t worry about me; this gut wound will heal up, just like all the other nicks and scratches, and make a nice scar to show off. I’ll get a new weapon, something I can actually fight with like this, and then...who knows? Maybe I’ll stick around for a bit. I’m sure Shirudo has something better to do than pester me.”

Shirudo traveled with forty Te Fukushu hunters on horseback. His first time in the field in months...and damned if he didn’t feel exhilarated!

He rightfully belonged in the position that gave the most benefit to his people, and that had been at the rear of an army, not at the front. But he couldn’t deny the rush of battle, and the thrill of success as his enemies crumbled before him. No scroll or missive could replicate that.

“How will I ever endure peace?” he wondered, “As accustomed as I am to war. A desk in a rebuilt Shimobashira Inaka would be the end of me.”

As his mare panted, her body heat travelling up his legs, Shirudo slowed their pace and checked his new weaponry. Try as he might, he was no equal to Aika or Koukatsuna with a sword. But in the time since arriving in Teikoku he’d been fascinated with their gunpowder-based weapons.

A pair of three-shot revolvers, reverse engineered from Arainami’s, were holstered inside his haori; a long coat of white linen emblazoned with the Imperial Kamon in gold thread, which served as the formal proclamation of his status as Lord.

A pair of standard-issue flintlock pistols were holstered to his thighs, and a large blunderbuss, a rifle which fired a fragmentary slug, was belted over his shoulder. A very wide spread, but low range; he would rely on his pistols for distant shots, but he’d trained extensively with each device.

Several small sects of Te Fukushu, including his current honor guard, were likewise learning the construction, upkeep, and use of these weapons. This new breed of technology would revolutionize their fighting prowess, as Jhihro’s sunlight fluid had.

A short sword and shield were also belted onto the saddle of his horse if he needed them. Thus armed, he was also armored in the traditional Human style; a cuirass under his haori, as well as fingerless gauntlets, greaves, and boots, all black steel inlaid with gold. Each of his hunters had a similar if less ornamented suit, complete with pauldrons and an open faced helm tailored to each of their horn arrangements and thicknesses.

Smiling, Shirudo rubbed the horse’s mane, and she grunted in response. He’d named her Yuki, since her fur reminded him of snow, though she had a few splotches of brown on her nose. She had been bred for climbing rough terrain, hence her thick, stocky legs. She seemed not to mind the biting cold, and thanks to her body heat neither did he.

Traveling north and east, they skirted the edges of Shimobashira Inaka, and Shirudo felt a pang of sympathy for its plight. With the ground frozen solid little could be done to bury the bodies from the terrible battle that had occurred about a week prior; most were piled into an icy heap outside, Human and Vampyre alike. When spring’s thaw came they would probably be burned. Risk of infection by a number of virulent diseases seemed likely.

The walls were nonetheless the first task of reconstruction, and wooden pillars and scaffolding lined the destroyed areas like a skeleton.

Facing them, the entire first stretch of the village’s border was a hole, offering a view of the interior. Beyond this, the houses were decrepit; most were boarded up. Laborers and soldiers lined the streets, sunken-eyed and listless. They barely noticed their passage, and no one hailed them.

“I would speak to them...” he decided, but one of his subordinates stopped him from ordering a halt.

“My Lord.” she said, “That is a bad idea; if the more liberal Central District so vehemently resisted your ascension, how do you think these people will react? We should return only when you are formally declared and at the helm of no less than a hundred warriors.”

Gritting his teeth, Shirudo knew her to be right. Humans were a prickly lot at times...and passions were already inflamed in the region. Soon, then.

Nodding, the Silkrit angled the reins again, back on the path to the Renmei Kisai.

Her story and energy spent, Kaileena sat with Ken’ichi in the main area; a spacious but homey sitting room with a large table and chairs, a few plush divans, and a black iron stove nearly identical in design, if not in quality, to those used in her homeland. This one had fine brass inlay and filigree, and an engraving of runes lining its vent.

The walls were lined with odd tokens; a shield and crossed swords, large winding horns and exoskeletons belonging to unknown creatures, a bronze candelabra resting on a shelf with bright baubles, as well as a few oil paintings.

Taking the time to study her uncle more deeply, Kaileena was left perplexed. He had a jolly, relaxed feel about him, though his face sported several deep scars and two of his horn nubs on the left side had flat tips, as if cleanly severed. He was also missing the tip of his right little finger, and there was a splotch of skin on the right shoulder that was discolored, as if from a long-healed irritation.

“Scorch mark.” he explained when she stared too long, “Got it, and a few others, from a job a long time ago.”

“You are a warrior?” she asked, more observation than question, and when he seemed perplexed by her tone, she explained, “...I mean, this place is so peaceful. I’ve been wondering what need is there for warriors when the Kamiyonanayo-”

“Kami-whats?” he interrupted, and she clarified, “...err, Djinn...when the Djinn rule this place. What battles did you fight?”

“Well...” he replied, considering that for a moment, “...a few. During my youth I fought for coin, taking any odd job that Magi or lesser Djinn Arcanists needed done, from collecting reagents to hunting down rare treasures in the Veil.”

Then, he grinned boyishly, “But I am now the second-in-command of The Moon’s Eye; Surthath’s mortal police force. We seek out and neutralize threats within the Veil, and enforce peace and order by Surthath’s decree. I earned my position during an escort job for a rogue scholar; a El’Dari, actually. His name was...ah, Yhanle.”

“...Bright fellow, a bit overeager and excitable, but very powerful. He was looking for some sort of artifact that recalled souls without the use of necromancy, truly bringing them back to life. Instead, we found a necromancer...a very big, angry one; a Dragon, who had indeed prolonged his life but through binding his soul to a black stone and rising anew as a lich...”

Suddenly he grew very somber, “...That was a dark day for us. We’d taken some ornery jobs before...but that thing just laid waste to us. Its breath was a burning fluid which seared flesh and bone. Its claws and teeth were like swords, shearing through armor and shield. Its hide, even rotten, was indestructible. For how long we endured combat, I know not. One by one, my comrades fell around me.”

...It took him some time to continue, “Eventually, Yhanle demanded I retreat while he faced the beast alone. I refused, but I was pushed away by his spell as the Dracolich smote him in the side, slicing him in half. I fell down a mountain of gold that comprised its hoard, and broke my ankle. I looked down and saw a jeweled hilt of a weapon buried in the mound of treasure. My own weapon was lost and I knew then that I would die, so I pulled it free, and screamed my defiance. The Dracolich breathed his fiery death upon me...and I did not burn. Here, come see.”

Stepping away for a moment, Ken’ichi ran into the next room and returned with the strangest and most garish weapon she’d ever seen, nearly the length of his entire body. Its hilt was leather-wrapped but in a different way than a katana, with a crossed-strip design. Placed between every other cross of leather strip was a solid diamond, each one a different color. The guard was wide and thick, formed of two coiling metal bars, each of which had a Dragon’s head on their end. The pommel was a rounded bevel with a diamond at its tip. The blade itself was glassteel, forged in a waving pattern like a Kris, but the blood groove was also diamond, which sparkled with a dazzling sunburst radiance.

“How could enough diamond possibly be harvested for such a large weapon?” Kaileena asked, genuinely astounded, and her uncle chortled, “A good question. It’s a very special weapon; one of the seven legendary god-crafted swords called the Fatecleavers. You know about Surthath’s namesake sword? Well, outside of the weapons they made for themselves, occasionally the Old Ones wanted to try their hand at smithing a powerful enchanted weapon for favored mortals. It never happens anymore, but the seven are indestructible, though most of them are lost.”

“Lost?” Kaileena asked, “Then how are they known?”

Ken’ichi replied with a wink, then, “By their deeds, girl, by their deeds. A mortal can wield power far beyond his ken by possessing and proving himself worthy of such a treasure. This one is Hrotti, and in claiming its hilt I found myself immune to the fiery breath of the Dracolich. Even on a broken ankle I charged back into the fray with renewed vigor. I hacked, slashed, and chiseled away at its weak areas; the eyes, nostrils, and the inside of the mouth. Oh, how the beast screamed in frustration as its most powerful spells broke upon me to no effect. I found that I did not tire, even as our battle continued for hours. Never did I fall, never did I relent in my furious attack.”

He seemed on the verge of lurching to his feet and swinging the thing around, “Screaming the names of my fallen allies and friends, I chipped the beast away one piece at a time. Seeking out and finding its cursed phylactery, I brought it to the ground and sliced it in half with Hrotti, finally killing the Dracolich once and for all.”

He laughed, sighing, “Well, that was my war story. With Hrotti in my hand I am immune to fire and magicka, and never tire in battle, though I do not truly regenerate. Believe me when I say that when I returned home the healers had quite the project on their hands putting me back together. But my story became a part of the sword’s legend, and that alone is worth all the pain.”

“I see...” Kaileena said, genuinely intrigued. This was what Arteth had been talking about; when a part of great accomplishments weapons found a name of their own, and perhaps even a fighting spirit. She now understood why some of her friends named their tools of combat, even if it still seemed silly. To give a piece of metal or crystal a name like a person or creature did not appeal to her nature.

“Do you know of any of the other Fatecleavers?” she asked, curious, to which her uncle scratched his chin.

“Well...let me think. There is Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar; a wicked little sword in its own right. A darksteel scimitar studded with emeralds, forged by Morag Toth to spite Surthath. Its legend is known nearly as well as Hrotti.”

He grew distant, recalling it, perhaps, then, “The Oni Khurshid claimed the blade from his master Rel’Gaarmathar and slew a R’yzthaek with it, finding a major victory against the old Dread Hammer’s court. Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar grants its wielder complete immunity to mental attacks and illusions. A handy trick, ironically intended to allow its wielder to better battle Surthath’s Djinn.”

Then, “Oh, and there’s also Caladbolg. Lost to history, sadly. It was, err, is, a two-handed mithril greatsword that made a circle like the arc of a rainbow when swung, each color being a different magickal effect; some hostile, others beneficial. It was created by Tu’Narcuteth after the Old One found himself unable to choose just one enchantment, and probably made his weapon useless in the process. And I also know the names of a few others; Gan Jiang and Tizona, mainly, but not their histories or their powers. The other two...well, who knows if they might turn up in the centuries to come, wielded by new champions whose legends will become known to me.”

“So tell me...” Ken’ichi continued, as he lowered himself back into his seat with a contented sigh, “Where-”

The door opened wide, startling both of them, and Kaileena looked back to find another Silkrit, who seemed equally surprised to see her. They had very similar features; the long snout, slender hands, and a feather mane, though hers was colored a dark, dark blue with a light blue center.

She was half a foot shorter than her, probably about thirteen years old, clothed in a layered gown of unusual style. She had an energetic, excitable air about her that reminded her of Ken’ichi himself.

“Hinata!” he said elatedly, “Where’s your mother?”

“Right here...” another female replied behind Hinata, and Kaileena found herself very puzzled. To see them as mother and daughter was highly unusual, for they not only looked very similar, this other woman looked little older at all, closer to Kaileena’s own age. She had a head topped with stark white feathers, with delicate silver chains dangling from her horn nubs, and was clothed in a slim white gown that reached down to her ankles.

Her face was shorter, and she had a more passive, reserved air about her, but nothing revealed her age other than her eyes, which implied vast experience and patience. A basket filled with oddly shaped roots hung around her shoulder; cooking herbs, perhaps.

“Hina.” Ken’ichi explained for her benefit, “Both of you, you won’t believe this. We have a niece! Hina, you have a cousin.”

“Really?!” Hinata said, She is- I mean, you are? What’s your name?”

“Kaileena.”

“How about Kai?” she asked, “I like to shorten people’s names when I know them well enough, but I can’t do that to my own because then it would be Mother’s name.”

“You know nothing about me.” she replied, not unkindly, and Hinata smiled, “I plan to. Not every day you get a cousin. Ooh, what do you want to go do first? We could go see tonight’s play; singers and dancers and acrobats and who knows what else! Father, can we?!”

Ken’ichi chuckled, “You arrived at an opportune time, Kaileena. You can absorb a bit of my daughter’s boundless enthusiasm and let me get a moment’s peace. You two go ahead; the Djinn can bill me like they always do. Hina and I need to have a talk to discuss your living situation.”

“I have a place to live already.” Kaileena protested hastilly, “There is no need to-”

“No, no.” Ken’ichi insisted, “You plan to stay a few nights, yes? Good, then you will be our guest for that time; you see anything, ask and you will have it. If you want to stay longer, you are more than welcome to.”

At long last it felt like she was back home with Father and Brother, where she was not only accepted but embraced wholeheartedly. These people...they would take her in without question, not even knowing her, not even hesitating to offer her a home and hearth and love...

“I would be honored.” was all she could say. The rawness of her throat choked off anything else.

Ken’ichi nodded, “As long as you have want or need, this is your home. Go, have fun with Hinata; go see the wonders this world has to offer. We can all sit by the fire tonight with some warm cacao.”

“What’s that?” she asked, and he laughed, “The nerve, coming to this world and not sampling the local beverages. Find out later. But not until after the evening’s entertainment.”

As the moon fully rose in Moonshadow, its denizen’s festivities only intensified. Since she wasn’t entirely sure where Hinata was leading her, Kaileena could only assume she was on a different street from the one she’d used to travel to their house.

Hovering phantom lights lined the streets, glowing a soft blue or crystalline clear and emitting a faint humming sound. Other residents moved about, mostly Silkrit or Elves, many in various stages of inebriation, probably going home from that revel she’d seen earlier.

The more compact houses and shops in the current section of the city were uniform, boxing her in with high walls and consuming shadows. It made her feel intensely claustrophobic...

“You sure are quiet.” Hinata suddenly said beside her, and Kaileena eyed her sidelong.

“Yes.” she replied, uneasily, “I guess so. I apologize...I am merely thinking.”

“Thinking about what, Kai?” Hinata prodded, and she sighed.

“Many things, I suppose.” she explained, “Since my father died I have been drifting for a long time, pulled along by a thread of interweaving fates through increasingly dire and perilous straits for a cause I barely still believe in. I think now of little things, petty things, I guess. It’s hard to explain.”

Hinata paled, “Your father died...?”

Kaileena nodded, “A great number of people dear to me have died. Without Arteth, I...-”

“Who?” Hinata asked, confused, and she laughed, shrugging off her melancholy, “Ah, yes, you didn’t hear the story. Arteth is my husband.”

“You’re mated already?” the girl gasped, eyes wide, “But you’re so young! Who is he? I want to meet him sometime.”

“I see no reason not to.” Kaileena conceded, “He is a powerful Djinn, as you call them. More so, he is perhaps the most powerful of them.”

With that, Kaileena shrugged anew, “For tonight, however, let us go see this place you speak of. I must confess I am genuinely curious to see what those awash in such wonders as this consider entertainment.”

Koukatsuna pushed his body to its limit and beyond, using the pain in his gut like a cattle prod. He became pain, and thus, became immune to it, fully absorbed in a red pulsating haze.

With his new weapon; a mundane but well-made steel estoc with a wire-wrapped hilt and an elegant cross guard, he struck with lightning speed, still able to fully utilize his bladedancing in spite of the new style and his injury.

He parried and riposted phantom enemies, befuddled and deceived with his astounding contortions, and thrust forward in a blinding display of focused ferocity, his sword whistling through the air. For the most part he kept his body side-first towards a target, providing only the smallest possible room for counter attack.

Ending in a dazzling flourish, Koukatsuna twirled the sword end-over-end, before tossing it upward, where it slid parallel to his body before landing point-down into the sheath.

Tapping the pommel to force it down all the way, he gasped as fatigue finally reestablished itself over his burning adrenaline. The cold and the residual pain of his injuries suddenly plagued him much more than seconds prior. It took all of his energy to make it back to the wooden planks ringing the training area before collapsing into a panting heap.

Lacking the ability to sweat, it became difficult to breathe for a time while he vented excess body heat through his mouth.

Atsushi was somewhere else in the compound, seething over his fast recovery no doubt. Reaching down to his pot of tea which had long gone cold, Koukatsuna forced the stuff down after throwing in a few handfuls of snow that’d fallen the night before.

“Not too bad...” he decided, “Maybe I’ll throw in some sugar next time.”

Refreshed, he scrutinized his new weapon. He’d bought it on the Te Fukushu’s tab from one of the local smiths who specialized in foreign weapon styles. The narrow, double-edged blade was polished to a mirror shine. He almost regretted that he would have to get blood on it.

It wasn’t enchanted or fortified, so he would have to regularly sharpen and polish it, but that was okay. He wasn’t getting into any real battles soon anyway.

He smelled Rinshi in the air, and smiled, turning to appraise her. His smile died stillborn when he saw the look on her face.

“Oh...” he said, deflating, “It’s like that, huh?”

“Yes.” Rinshi replied, “Mother didn’t change her mind. I am still to marry Atsushi within the week. And then he will take me far from here.”

“Damn it!” Koukatsuna cursed, “That should have worked! Let me think a moment.”

“He surprised me last night. He said he will take me on my engagement tour tomorrow.” she continued, stopping him, “Mother approved. The servants are packing my things now. There is no way she will change her mind now.”

A hole opened in his gut.

“I am sorry.” he said finally, and she shrugged, “It was inevitable that I left this place. My only regret is that we will not be able to speak any more. You are a good friend, the best I’ve had. I just wanted to say goodbye before I am summoned back to my lessons.”

With that, she kissed him on the cheek and turned away, leaving him to his thoughts.

“You got things this far along...” Koukatsuna cursed to himself, “There has to be a solution to this. Think. Think...”

Hinata led her to the coliseum, where Ken’ichi apparently fought as a gladiator when his duties to The Moon’s Eye permitted.

Kaileena tensed, hardly in the mood for blood sport, but Hinata smiled knowingly, “No fighting goes on this late. And besides, what we want is in the lower floors.”

The coliseum, all hard marble and detailed statuary, had several entrances on the side opposite from where she passed by earlier, from ascending ramps and staircases leading to increased elevations, possibly for overhanging balconies, to descending stairs, which currently experienced the most traffic.

“The fights happen on the top floor.” Hinata explained, “Each of those stairs lead to a observatory with rows and rows of seats for people to sit and watch. The middle path; the completely straight one, leads to the fighter’s chambers, which looks like a giant ring, where they get ready for each match. The circle of sand is further in, where the fights happen. Father was there only two days ago, where he fought a young Djinn with a big hammer. Father won that one, barely. He was really sore afterward.”

“Are there fights ever to the death?” Kaileena asked, uneasy, and Hinata gaped, “Your people do that? No, it’s first blood on the torso or the first broken bone. Nobody ever dies.”

“Surely there are accidents.” she insisted, and her cousin shook her head, “Every fighter gets a necklace. It makes them disappear if they would get hurt too bad, and thus they lose the match. Nobody has ever died in there, though sometimes the Djinn really hurt themselves since they heal so fast.”

Nodding, Kaileena followed Hinata down the lower stairs, which led into a wide antechamber packed with people of all types.

“Oooh.” Hinata breathed, “They have Jor as the conductor today. He’s very good.”

“A conductor?” Kaileena asked, and she smiled, “I forget you’ve never seen a play; a conductor leads the instruments and other things.”

“Singing, dancing...this sounds a great deal like Kabuki. I never saw one but it was described to me by Sohiri, who’d worked in one before...well, that’s not important.”

“Why not? Tell me.” Hinata said, loudly as not to be drowned out by the wall of noise generated by the excited crowd. Kaileena decided to make it easier on herself by conversing through telepathy, “Speak with your mind, cousin. I will hear. As I’ve said, it’s not important. Where do we go from here?”

“This way.” Hinata replied, not hesitating in the slightest at such casual use of magicka, leading her towards a less crowded path through the antechamber, which led to a short but steep staircase leading down.

At the end of the staircase, Kaileena gasped as a huge room beckoned to her; a great black emptiness that stretched for over a bowshot. Impatient, for a crowd was pushing from up the stairs, Hinata led her down a diagonal ramp between two sections of seats, with another, higher set of rows on a section over the stairway entrance. Those rows features oddly large seats, probably meant for male Kamiyonanayo. All of this formed a wide balcony, looking down at a massive wooden stage.

“All of this is right under the coliseum?” Kaileena asked telepathically, to which her cousin nodded, “Like a world underneath a world. You’d never know it, seeing how big the arena is all by itself. This is the biggest building in all the city.”

That she could certainly believe...

Straining over the divider, for Hinata had chosen the end seat on the lowest row, Kaileena saw that directly under their balcony was a small army of Silkrit, Elves, and Orcs. Most carried one of a variety of strange looking objects, which she deduced were outlandish musical instruments. Ryū would have lost his mind looking at them.

Sprinkled among those bearing delicate stringed instruments were female Kamiyonanayo, whereas the males were clustered among the large drummers and percussionists. A number of Elves lined the front and bore no instruments at all. Vocalists?

“How are we to hear them clearly?” she asked telepathically, “If they are directly under us?”

“Look to the floor.”

Obliging, Kaileena noted slits all across the edges where floor and wall met. Of course; those would filter the sounds up without making them muted or distorted.

They sat for a time, chatting about this or that. Kaileena spoke a little of her past; the good parts, at least, and Hinata in turn spoke of life on Moonshadow. It was refreshing to see someone speak familiarly of floating cities, near-immortality, and constant thrumming magicka. It made her feel more normal somehow, at least by a slim margin.

Everyone, it seemed, had their own story in this place, this paradise. Everyone belonged, was a part of it. Did she? It remained unclear.

Teasing open the telepathic contact with her beloved, she sent her affections. He replied in kind, and contented with their brief, indirect contact, she begrudgingly reduced it to its normal, torpid state.

“I felt that.” Hinata said, pleased, her arms in her lap while she played with the tip of her tail, “So romantic...”

Suddenly, the chamber became darker, the finite light sources dimming of their own accord. Hinata squeezed her hand, and Kaileena returned the gesture, sitting back and awaiting what the night had in store.

The light, akin to that of torches, died completely, leaving them in complete darkness. For a time, the chamber was as still and silent as a tomb.

Then... Like drifting snowflakes in a light breeze, tiny flakes like captured starlight swirled throughout the chamber, accompanied by a soft flute melody. When they were vertical, their faces towards the crowd, they looked like tiny polished mirrors, but as they shifted, they disappeared, only to reappear a few finger’s breadths away, their thickness so minute as to be indeterminable to the naked eye.

The tiny lights spread all throughout; Kaileena could have reached out to touch a few. Floating, so softly, so slowly.

Then suddenly, another flute joined the first, than another, much lower in pitch, providing a backdrop and regular tempo. A steady influx of light flakes continued, but a secondary pattern emerged with the new notes; flakes were collecting and flying in compressed, focused streams, coiling and swirling and dazzling her with complex routines.

The music increased in volume, subtly shifting from whimsical to mystical, eerie, and somehow melancholy. The notes remained unchanged, but some indescribable alteration had occurred to account for the metamorphosis.

Soon, stringed instruments, akin to lutes but thicker and duller in tone, joined in, followed by a much lighter companion, more akin to the harp she’d seen Ryū play once or twice.

A third visual pattern emerged, starting from the floor below in front of the balconies. Swirling like a violent gale, it rose into a flat, geometric surface, growing in size until its tip was level with the ceiling and its sides reached the edges of chamber walls.

Suddenly, every light flake in the room darkened, turned crimson. A pounding, brutal undertone emerged from within the harmony, slowly drowning it out until all that she could hear was its intense, threatening harshness. What was once enchanting became frightening, the streams becoming wailing wraiths, the flakes becoming drifting embers.

The ground beneath her feet shook as the combined notes of dozens of instruments joined the tempo, faster and faster. This continued until it became nearly unbearable for her to listen, until she considered shutting off her auditory functions entirely.

But then, a voice joined the flowing music, a piercing, powerful feminine voice, which warred with the discord of the visuals and tempo. Within the wall of red motes, a bright yellow blossomed in the center, ringed with pure white. Like a drop of oil in water, it spread throughout all the flakes of light, and as it did, the music again shifted, softening, slowing, until a new, fourth pattern emerged.

This music spoke to her of all things bright, vibrant, and joyful, full of energy and happiness. It was uplifting, like a bright sun emerging from a dark, cloudy sky. The flakes flared to blinding levels, then faded. The music faded. Blackness, silence, returned...

“Was that the play?” Kaileena asked telepathically, fascinated, and Hinata squeezed her hand again, sending her implied amusement, “No, Kai...that was just the overture. Watch.”

Koukatsuna went to a spot in Minamoto’s villa he’d never visited, never thought to either; the library.

The musty smell of rotting paper and animal skin greeted him when he stumbled in. It was silent as a tomb. Thankfully, the lore-keeper was still there, scribbling something on a vellum parchment. If he’d gone to bed already Koukatsuna would have been screwed.

The Human took one look at him; his threadbare tunic, the sword belted on his waist, and his closed right eye, and scowled. Typical.

“Can I help you?” he asked with precisely the acceptable amount of implied politeness, and Koukatsuna nodded, “I was looking for some information, actually. My...previous occupation had taught me a few things about the goings-on and traditions of the nobility here, but I wanted to be a bit more learned on the subject. Can you help me out?”

Visibly surprised, the lore-keeper shrugged, “Take a seat, then. Let me finish this passage.”

Obliging, Koukatsuna hissed in pain when he lowered himself onto a chair, one of many strewn about the room. A good thing; kneeling on the floor would probably make someone’s neck stiff after poring over something longer than a few pages.

But he couldn’t say for sure; he’d never read in his life. Shirudo had offered to teach him how once, but he’d “politely declined”, considering the exercise unfitting of a true warrior. He knew better now. Maybe that was just him growing up...

After a few minutes the Human put down his brush, “Alright, then. What was it you wanted to know?”

“A few things.” Koukatsuna replied, scratching his chin; “Just to fill in the blanks. For one, how are noble families made?”

“From financial success, mostly. Sometimes, multiple members of a family consistently show greatness in the field of battle, and the reigning lord or another prominent figure might choose to elevate their status or induct them into his own family. The latter is more common; that is why sometimes people marry from within the family.”

The old man pondered that a moment, then, “Mixing blood is frowned upon, but mixing pure family members with adopted ones permits a rigid structure and hierarchy, creating upper and lower branches of family members. Thus, not all members of a noble family have the same weight as others, and likewise, some are not even considered true nobles.”

“I would guess, then.” Koukatsuna replied, “That the upper nobles selected for that would be in low regard among the family, to be so chosen.”

“Right you are.” the lore-keeper replied, impressed, “Usually the result of an inter-family schism, wherein supremacy is declared through a duel, sometimes to the death. Generally, the females on the losing side of the branch are offered to the lower rungs.”

“Alright.” Koukatsuna continued, “How about enchanters? If enchanters are in a noble family, lower or upper, what happens?”

The lore-keeper shrugged, “Before this war lower and upper nobles who developed enchanter powers were immediately stripped of rank and deported to the Renmei Kisai. Upper nobles were often granted luxuries, however, like private rooms and consideration for advancement within the organization. But that was a ruse; they were still enslaved, common or noble. Does that answer your question?”

He nodded, changing the subject, “I noticed that nobles often used hired guards, but sometimes they had something called a champion, or shieldman. What’s that?”

The Human seemed to be enjoying this line of questions, for he smiled, “A curious tradition; in ancient times a champion was selected as a personal bodyguard, generally for a noble lady while she went about her daily business and on diplomatic envoys to other families. He would be sworn to her, body and soul, protecting her until one of them died. If the lady died from unnatural causes it was tradition that her champion take his own life as atonement.”

He shrugged noncommittally, “Nowadays, however, they are usually skilled mercenaries, elevated by a noble to the title. More of a combination of bodyguard, assistant, sounding board, assassin, and servant to a male noble, utilized to spread the family’s influence. Nobody has championed themselves to a lady in three decades, at least.”

“Interesting...” Koukatsuna said, the plot thickening, “How are they chosen? And are they solely expected to offer loyalty to the noble lady, or to the family in general?”

“They are usually offered as a gift from the mother.” the Human explained, “Before a major event, like a marriage or first birth. But if the lady herself approved, the champion was chosen after personally pledging himself to her. To be rejected was a great shame; many commoners and lower nobles killed themselves after being so refused. And there were requirements, of course.”

“Like?” Koukatsuna asked, to which he replied, “The champion-to-be needed to display himself as an excellent warrior, emerging from many battles and duels. Likewise, he needed to remain unmarried; a family of his own would be seen as a conflict of interest, for he needed to be loyal solely to the noble lady in question. The greatest downfall of this practice was that he would often fall in love with the lady, who was sworn to another and unable to marry under her station. A great many tragedies emerged from this.”

“...But to answer your question, the champion of old was devoted solely to the wishes of the noble lady, and thus protected her from inter-family strife and political backbiting. If the lady was deposed, say, on the wrong side of a family schism, the champion would suffer as well, losing his status and honor, again becoming no more than a mere mercenary. He was expected to fight for her, die for her, or live for her, depending on her need.”

“A very romantic practice.” Koukatsuna said, “I was asking more about the newer version for practicality’s sake, but that’s interesting as history at least.”

A lie, that bit. Heh.

“Indeed.” the lore-keeper agreed, “One must always know one’s history, or in your case, the history of the land you inhabit. In any case, I am ready to retire for the evening, but if you wish to learn any more be sure to ask. It is my passion to bestow knowledge to any who desire it.”

“Even a foreigner?” Koukatsuna asked, half-sarcastically, and the Human smiled grimly, “Even a foreigner. I admit that I disagree with your people coming to this district, but I acknowledge your right to, fighting beside us as you are. Do come again if you have any more questions.”

“Sure.” Koukatsuna lied again, “Next time I get the chance.”

And with that, he let the Human close up the library in peace, and started for his room, thinking...

Kaileena was at first confused by the dazzling display of lights, colors, and music, all interweaving with the actions of actors and dancers below, but as the play proceeded she began to infer minor facts.

The story was a rough re-telling of a campaign in the frozen north of the eastern side of Aurora; her home world, during a period of the War of the Dreadborne in which Humans and Elves fought against the now-Dread Hammer and his foul minions.

The narration was through chorus, spliced between long periods of harmonic singing led by the Elves. The astounding and vibrant bursts of light and color, forming perplexing shapes and the illusions thereof, represented spells and enchantments flying through the air, or even of the primal emotions that the narration or portrayal depicted.

The actors were mostly Silkrit, with small numbers of Humans and Elves and Orcs and Kamiyonanayo, and their elaborate costumes suggested shining suits of metal armor, peasant tunics, or flowing robes, all in the style she’d briefly observed when travelling through the El’Dari forests.

The other side of the conflict, however, was more graphic in its designs. Some actors were enhanced by illusions; they looked like Humans but with more bestial features; with long, gangly arms, gnashing, sharpened teeth, and grey, rotten flesh.

Among them were two-legged wolves with black fur and burning red eyes, Lycanthropes, perhaps, skeletons in black armor, and things far stranger.

The battle was choreographed; actions were stylized, more in dance than action, but what was suggested was still morbid and perilous. Swords clanged against shields, and illusionary arrows and spears hurdled through the air, forming a cacophony of dazzling light and sound.

Still more became apparent as some of the actors began doing very familiar things; mainly, an elven magister who used fire and a woman who used black orbs and fields of gravity to suck up and crush her foes. Narthutet had fought in that war, as had Elurra, back when she was...Human? That was odd, but the intention of the illusion giving an elven maiden rounded ears was clear enough.

There was also a sneering elf; Vilaseth, no doubt, and a male Kamiyonanayo who had Starseeker’s crystal staff. Armathras’ representation was also recognizable; a cackling, wild Kamiyonanayo with a golden fork, as was a female Kamiyonanayo she did not know who used a black bow.

There was also an Ogre, the only one on stage, actually, with a greatsword that reminded her of Hrotti, and a Human-representation with shining armor and an odd two-sided mask, one side a smiling countenance, the other a red skinned, horned fiend.

On the villain’s side of the stage, accompanied by chilling music and chorus, was an armored skeleton with a mace and shield, whose head burned like a red star, a robed skeleton with a crackling staff, a husk propelled by metal legs like a spider’s and whose flesh sprouted iron poles belching smoke, and, whose fearsomeness dwarfed all the rest, a shadowy Kamiyonanayo with a two-pronged blade.

Living darkness, the entity had eyes of baleful fire, and wide, black wings that trailed streamers of shadows. Arteth’s other half...back when he had been undead, and, frighteningly, far less powerful than he was today.

Eventually, many of the actors disappeared one by one from the stage, until only the recognizable champions remained. The music quickened further, becoming tense and foreboding.

A cluster of glowing circles emerged from the floor, and as the actors jumped on them they were propelled upwards. Ropes were likewise lowered, and the Elf and the female Kamiyonanayo engaged in astounding aerial acrobatics, flipping and leaping from one series of ropes to the next. The spider-legged zombie rose to the ceiling without the aid of the telekinetic circles, scaling the wall like the insect it resembled.

Synchronizing their movements, the Elf and the Kamiyonanayo circled round the monster, pelting it with fake arrows and magicka with broad flourishes.

While this happened, the two skeletons and the shadowy Kamiyonanayo attacked the others, levitating or flying. The actors responded with stunning leaps of faith from one platform to the next, swinging weapons and hurling glowing lights of varied shapes and colors. Never did they appear imbalanced by their actions, never did they stumble or gasp for air. They were relentless.

The two skeletons eventually succumbed, crumbling to the floor and dissipating as their unseen casters released the illusion. The spider-legged zombie fell to the stage, broken, and winked out of existence.

Many of the champions were gone as well; Armathras, Elurra, and the two-face-masked Human. As one, those remaining “attacked” the illusionary shadow Dur’Arteth, circling round in a structured dance. In spite of her knowledge of these events, in spite of the fact that her own husband’s alter-ego was the villain, she gasped when the actors seemed to fall beneath the shadow’s attacks, then cheered as they emerged unscathed, “fighting” with new ferocity.

Then, platforms sprang into being on the walls and ceiling, and what happened next left Kaileena hopelessly dizzy; on some unspoken accord the musicians and vocalists completely changed the tune into a heroic, uplifting harmony, and the actors leaped onto floor-platforms, were carried up, and, due to some sort of distorted gravity spell, shifted in their movement from the vertical to horizontal planes, then back again.

Like flies buzzing around a platter of food, they attacked the winged and flying shadow Dur’Arteth illusion from all directions, the colors and lights becoming blinding and chaotic, until with one last burst of frantic action the shadow Kamiyonanayo was immolated by blue flames and plummeted.

When the music died down, a withered husk wavered on the stage, surrounded by the actors, and a great, four-horned Kamiyonanayo with white fur and a katana appeared in their midst and charged it, and in a single, precise stroke, smote it in twain.

Cheers and deafening applause followed as the music died down, and a great curtain was pulled over the stage.

But the music did not cease; instead, it reverted to the very first, whimsical tune, with only the flutes, before the vocals again joined, in a peaceful, sad chanting. But the music brightened one final time as the curtains opened, revealing every actor, including the illusions, who promptly bowed to the audience.

Kaileena applauded with the rest, with Hinata beside her, as the curtains closed again and the music ceased.

There was blackness again, and then the lights re-ignited. Like that, it was over.

“Gods...” Kaileena gasped aloud, “I can see what you see in this place. We should come again soon, though maybe for a less weighty performance.”

Hinata looked at her, puzzled, then she explained, “I know quite a few people from the play; the real ones, that is.”

“Really? Hinata asked, more excited than she’d yet seen her, “Can I meet them?”

“Where are we going?” Kuri asked as they skirted a particularly bothersome patch of hills. Vala carried the girl, for it was too dark for her to move on her own.

“The Central District.” she finally replied, “Hitorigami City. I need to get in touch with a Djinn.”

“A what?” she asked, and Vala frowned, still looking beyond, “A Kamiyonanayo. One of them could provide me with some answers, perhaps. You spoke of Tenri, but I know her to be dead. This cannot be.”

But as she said that, she felt a sense of grim providence... Tenri, even as a fetus, had possessed incredible reserves of magicka. Had she been receptive to some power other than Vala’s own? Again, the more she thought of it, the more the stink of Surthath’s influence was obvious.

“If Surthath knew what would come to pass with my daughter, or had a hand in it.” Vala cursed, “Then god or not I will kill him.”

“Sur-thath?” Kuri asked, startling her. Looking down, Vala saw the girl with narrowed eyes and a thoughtful, puzzled sadness written in her expression, “I know that name. From somewhere...”

Vala sighed. Now that they were back inside the edges of the Central District they could rest for the day. Or she could, at least.

Propping up against a tree, much thicker and larger than the ones in the West District, she sighed, slipping off her calf-high boots and grinding her toes into the grass, waiting for the calluses collecting all across her feet to regenerate away. She’d pushed herself to the limits of her endurance with an unacceptably small amount of blood to feast on, but she was still in high spirits with her reclaiming of Toshisha.

After setting down some meat she’d harvested, dried, and salted from a small, big-eared mammal, Vala gave the morsels to Kuri, who ate them with some enthusiasm, humming a little tune while she did.

While she could have certainly gone for some, Vala didn’t need it, so she abstained, resting her eyes.

But after a time her attention returned again to her pack, set against her side. Dipping her hand inside it, Vala probed for her weapon, now inert in dagger-form, and hissed as the hilt burned her skin with intense cold.

“Why do you refuse me?” she asked, pulling free the weapon, ignoring the discomfort as her fingers darkened from frostbite. What had Furin done to her sword?

Perhaps she should have made his death slower, more intimate. Yes, she’d done so to her enemies before...when they deserved it.

Focusing her telepathic abilities, Vala probed the weapon, searching for its organic consciousness...

...Suddenly, she gasped, as she found herself within a great, dark hall. Her palace...well, the palace that had then been later claimed by Dekeshi, on their original home world before the time of the planetary invasions.

The walls were wrought of granite and magickally enhanced glass windows, stained a litany of colors. Unlike her siblings, her translucent murals depicted not scenes of blood and death, but of the night sky and shifting clouds. Stars and a pale moon were depicted on the ceiling skyline, illuminated by floating phantom lights outside.

It had been her sanctuary; her place of privacy and reflection. Where there wasn’t glass there was ice, maintained by the constant sub-zero temperatures, forming fine sheets that lined the stone support columns and sculpted into complex statuary of winged beasts and haughty elven champions.

Walking down a long path denoted by a blue carpet lined with a lighter blue trim, she approached her throne; a great three-pronged pillar of solid ice. Banners stood to either side, emblazoned with her personal crest; a circle of light-blue spinal disks, surrounding a prism.

Sitting on the throne itself, her face unreadable, was her. And yet, not her. The her sitting on the throne was the old her, Kogoeji-ni, the Skraul Matriarch. She was clothed in a light blue robe. A proud and dark reflection of elven beauty, Toshisha’s burning red eyes bored into her.

“This was ours, once.” the sword stated, devoid of emotion, “Together, we ruled this land, nearly unchallenged.”

“Not really.” Vala replied sadly, “A throne is nothing without proper subjects, and ours were a wretched lot indeed, full of malice and ambition. It was a hollow rule.”

The sword did not object, then, “I was different back then, content with these false trappings of power. So were you. You wish to wield me again, and for me to aid you in battle. But I see no reason to fight anymore. There is nothing I want from this world or any other, not even revenge.”

“Tenri is alive...” she replied, “...possibly. And there is always Father; that one needs a sword in his black heart at the soonest opportunity.”

The sword shrugged, “I may be you, but your child is not mine. I shared in your joy at her voice, your pain at her loss, but there was nothing connecting me to her. I feel nothing on this matter.”

“What do you wish of me, then?” Vala asked, confused, and the sword sighed, “That idiot Furin taught me one thing; desire is pointless. Fate is not so kind to our people. Even if you win, your revenge completed, Dur’Artoth and all others vanquished, you will be the only Skraul in existence, the only one left who remembers our heritage. Does the weight of that profound loneliness sit heavily upon you? Oh, yes...your new “family”. What will become of you when they die, and you are left to spend eternity alone? Will your heart turn to ice, as mine has always been?”

Shocked, Vala’s first impulse was denial...but the truth was there in her words, immaculate and absolute. She’d always assumed her journey of vengeance would eventually claim her life. Never once had she considered actually surviving the war.

“I will have Tenri.” Vala protested, and Toshisha nodded, “Maybe. But if this leads nowhere, or if Tenri has indeed been resurrected but in another form, what then will you do? This is your doom, Vala. Our only place we forsook by choice after the Matriarchs betrayed us. And I, for my part, see no reason to exist in this doom.”

“What are you saying?” Vala asked, earning a grim look, “Does an immortal ever ponder old age? Perhaps. I, for my part, completed my existence by being granted the deaths of those I hated above all others. Now, I am ready for my end.”

The sword paused, thoughtful, “If you, my other half, see reason to continue, then so be it. I will not protest, but I would ask a service, ere we part ways.”

Vala nodded uncertainly, at a loss, her eyes glistening, and Toshisha gave a tired, bitter smile, “Only you can do this; strike my physical form with your new weapon. Upon contact, it will break me, allowing you to absorb and re-integrate the fragment of your essence you surrendered during my creation. The conscious birthed within the sword will perish; I will perish. But before I do, I will re-enter your being and provide a final gift, one shown to me by another. Will you do this?”

Kneeling, Vala felt short of breath. Kill...Toshisha? Could she? How was that even possible? Toshisha was her; it would be like killing herself.

“Please.” the sword implored, “If I saw any other alternative I would choose it. But you are me, and I am you. This is a service rightfully asked only between us two. Grant me an end, the one I desire.”

Conflicted, she stared into the eyes of her sword, her weapon, her only companion through the endless loneliness forced upon her by her daughter’s murder, forced upon her for her entire life; born among unfeeling, cruel beings that she felt no kinship with, in a world she’d always despised.

That loneliness had been sated by Hitomi and his family, and perhaps the few friends she'd made along the way, but before all else Toshisha had been the only voice, albeit muted, in the endless silence of her existence.

Defeated, she lowered her head, “If that is what you wish, my first and only friend, then I shall do this. But I do it with a heavy heart.”

Toshisha nodded, “The only way it can be done; we have seen too much together, savored in our shared pleasures together. But now is a time for goodbyes.”

“Goodbye.” Vala replied in a broken tone, standing again in the forests of the Central District, beside Kuri, who stared at her oddly.

Unmindful, Vala unsheathed her katana and looked down at Toshisha, in dagger form, resting on the soft earth. Her breathing unsteady, her undead heart beating frantically, the vampyre tightly gripped the cloth and ray skin handle, tip pointed downward.

Gasping, she lifted, and brought the sword down onto Toshisha.

Kaileena slept with Hinata back-to-back, the small hearth in the corner glowing a soft red. The window high up on the wall was closed, the drapery still. It was very quiet, pleasantly so, both of his girls’ silent breathing did nothing to stir the air.

Ken’ichi stood in the doorway for a time, still shocked and elated by the day’s events.

A niece... He had a niece...and no longer had a sister. Uchiki, dead. It was hard to believe.

How clearly he remembered her; her laugh, her easy smiles...her thirst for life. She’d been the adventurous one. Her birth name, which meant “Shy” had turned out to be an ironic moniker indeed...

And now she was gone. He would never hear her chide him about his profession as a gladiator, never hear her laugh at his stories. Sighing, he led Hina outside, closing the door behind them.

“That poor girl...” his mate whispered, her hand brushing against his, “She has suffered so much.”

Taking her hand, Ken’ichi nodded, “But no longer. She will stay with us...and if that dreadful Dur’Arteth must come along with her, then so be it. It will be interesting, having an ages-old Djinn as a nephew-in-law.”

“Or a son-in-law, perhaps.” Hina replied, “We always talked about having another daughter...we should accept Kaileena as our ward.”

“You think so?” he asked, intrigued, “I think so too. Her mother and father are...no longer around. It’s only right that she has a proper upbringing; by our standards she is but a child still, and has so much more to learn. We will raise her and Hinata together.”

That decided, they retired for the night, returning to their room. Ken’ichi claimed a few sweetmeats and cold tea from the larder, and enjoyed them in bed, feeding and being fed by his mate. It was an eventful day; there was a need to relax a bit. Tomorrow would be just as interesting...

Vala looked down in disbelief at Toshisha, splintered into fragments of bone. When the sword had connected there had been a flash of light, a gust of chill wind, and then...then the yawning hollowness of her heart, the final, unbearable pain of loss that brought tears to her eyes, forcing her to close them.

But with that pain, came revelation. The full scope of her powers reopened to her; her control over thermal energies, her many spells, and even...

“Why do you look different?” Kuri asked, confused, and she gasped, sobbing, falling to her knees, before the meaning registered. Had she become a pureblood again? Was that her sword’s final gift?

Dropping her katana, and reaching up to touch her face, she felt nothing amiss, then gasped again as she opened her eyes and looked down at her weapon.

No longer of steel, its blade was a clear, piercing blue; an edge of diamond and ice. Swirls of frigid mist rose from it, curling languidly around the grass.

Its handle was blue cloth wrapped over solid ivory, engraved with sealing runes. Its guard and pommel were solid platinum, and a round sapphire the size of the first digit of her thumb served as the center of the pommel. The guard was a hypnotic disk, suggesting the weapon had some untapped psionic-based spells within it. Is that what the runes were for?

As she reached out to touch the sword, Vala found another surprise waiting for her in her hand. Its shape was no different, but her skin was now a soft green shade.

Shaking, she grabbed her pack, her hands unsteady, before withdrawing a small mirror fragment and gazing into it. The rest of her skin had similarly changed color, her eyes a softer blue than before, their inner glow lost, and her hair was a russet-red color. Her narrow, hollow fangs were gone.

The face looking back at her was the face of a pure-blooded Orc; the face of a mortal. A mortal! That had been Toshisha’s parting gift!

“I am no longer a vampyre...” Vala said blankly, as if the words would somehow provide her thoughts on the matter. At first, she felt only a devastating sense of loss, then a vast emptiness.

But it passed...to be replaced by a growing curiosity to the importance of her situation. No more would she hide in the shadows. No longer would she feast on blood. Toshisha had given her all of her powers, all of her strength, and taken away her shame, taken away her dark legacy as Kogoeji-ni...her connection to her hated family and people!

A third emotion welled inside of her; unbridled joy. Let the world see her now!

Her shame as a Skraul, her uncertainty of her place in this new world...no more! She was Vala, mortal and ally to the Humans and Silkrit of Teikoku! Toshisha had given a far greater gift than she could have ever imagined!

Grinning, no doubt like a fool, she scooped up her new sword. Its balance was perfect, so light it might as well have been a stick.

“You need a name.” she decided, “A blade as fine as you yearns for a name. Toshisha was a name only for herself; I will call you Fuyuzora, after the sky of mid-winter.”

Trying and failing to decipher the runes in the handle outside of their vague purpose of sealing away energy, Vala shrugged and returned it to its scabbard, now a deep, dark blue wood with a black cloth Shitodome.

“Rest up.” she told a wide-eyed Kuri, “For we head out at first light. We will finish our journey in the sun.”