There was solace. Sanctuary. Following the battle, the burnt and broken field that once was so beautiful now served as a reminder of their collective failure.
Yet, after a time steeped in deep thought, the swordsman returned to his easel as if nothing had even occurred. He painted now with renewed inspiration; where before he had hesitated before each stroke, now he was sure of the image he wished to conjure.
“...We lost. He kicks our teeth in, they steal his sword, and he just goes right back to his little art piece, huh?” Camelia’s lily-white skin had been sliced at nearly every turn, tiny curtains of blood dripping from every wound. Though, the biggest blow had been dealt to her pride. A witch defeated by anything but sorcery is no witch at all. To be beaten so brutally by an object of the material world, even if that object was a relic forged in the Abyss, was devastating.
“What’s your plan, Yuki?” Sato asked, clutching her shoulder. The black blade Umbra wielded against her had left a nasty bite behind, but it could be mended. “I doubt you of all people will just let them go.”
“Now is not the time. Eventually, they will cross my path again. And when they do, I will be there to deliver their destined end.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“All things are entangled, connected by fate and destiny. If the thread woven pulled us together once, it will do so a second time.”
Camelia scoffed. “So you’ll just wait and hope they come running back to you? With your blade? Not a chance.”
“...Yes? Mm. Alright, then.” Suddenly, he looked away from his painting and met their gazes. “If you’ll allow me to finish my art in peace and quiet, I’ll apply medicine to your injuries afterward.”
“What?” Ma’at cocked an eyebrow, flabbergasted. “How…?”
“How?” the swordsman replied, perturbed. “In my younger years living in Nima, my sisters and I spent many moons out in the wilderness. I know which plants will cure and which will plague.”
“That’s not what I meant. How can you help us after all of that?”
Yuki let loose a wistful sigh, then returned to painting. Just as they thought he had chosen to ignore Ma’at’s query, however, he spoke. “When the chance comes, there are some threads worth severing and some that are not. I decided… in lieu of Umbra’s appeal… that there was no point in ending your lives. I did my best to disarm rather than kill. It seems that, even when holding back, the Third Brushstroke is much too violent. You very well could have died through no fault of my own.”
“That was you… holding back…?” Despair extinguished the fiery hatred burning in Camelia’s chest.
Deciding to honor the man’s claim, they grew silent and watched in admiration the artist’s creative process. When it was finally done, it resembled the field as it once was rather than what it had become. His reasoning, he gave, was that his first painting had been with the Unmeikatana. His finished piece upon the canvas, therefore, had to be of what was no longer there. Why? Well, why would one paint the present twice in one day? He had chosen to paint the past and the present.
“The future piece shall reflect my slaying of the Nye Inkorpt. Each will fall beneath my blade. Ahh, it will be a splendid work. Potentially my best.” That was what he had to say on the matter.
“Then come with us,” Tien said as he cleaned his brush. “Plans have changed. It seems the Nye Inkorpt are finally making their move. If we aim to strike at their headquarters, will you help?”
“Hmph,” Yuki chuckled. “Certainly not. Vroque and the Nye Inkorpt are two sides of the same coin, you see. I’ve already given you my opinion.”
“Again, I’m not asking you to join us, merely to travel alongside us seeing as our fates are so entwined as you say.” A new side of Tien, her argumentative and persuasive persona, threatened to turn his own words against him. It was certainly a tactic learned as she dealt with higher-ups in Reville’s social structure. “I give you my word that Vroque will not force you into anything. No deals or contracts. Everything will be according to your own will.”
The swordsman hushed, staring at his finished art in silent contemplation.
“If it’s war you’re worried about,” Tien continued hesitatingly, “Vroque is doing everything in its power to avoid such a future. It’s the Nye Inkorpt that wish to poke and prod at Vastyliad’s quiet yet unstable peace. They threaten to cause a great upheaval the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the Advent.”
Sudden yet unsurprising ire tore at the artist’s visage, restrained anger warping his features as he turned back to look upon the bleeding magus. “Enough lies. I tire of them. Admit that whatever ‘justice’ your corporation claims to desire is but a hollow shell devoid of meaning and spirit. I do not doubt their intentions to be wholesome, but to call their actions just is to spit upon the corpses of those they have run over. The same is true for anyone; killing itself is a reprehensible sin, the likes of which can never be justified to any degree. Those that delude themselves, who deny this single, immutable truth, are true monsters and villains. They deserve naught but scorn, as demons do. A human, a warrior accepts that his duties may force him to commit murder. But he does not forget that it is a sin regardless of intention.” His back straight, the ronin delivered his view on the world sternly and without compromise. This truth, his truth, would not be argued.
And who could? Not even Tien could refute it. His was a truth indelibly carved into every man’s heart. No killing, however heroic, is justifiable. And those that do claim it to be justified under marvelous banners and flags hope only to convince themselves above all that their horrific actions are right and just. But it is the opposite, as plain as the difference between day and night. To take a life is always wrong regardless of the reasons behind it, beyond a doubt. Even a mage like her, who’s morality and values differed from those of the common person, could not deny his words.
“Speak, woman. I do not mean to crush your spirit. Never. I only hope to bring to light a universal truth that so many have forgotten.”
“No, you’re right. By no means do I think Vroque any better than the Inkorpt.” She let her vision drift across her sliced and battered allies. Even if she didn’t agree, even if she truly thought Vroque’s will just, she couldn’t let them bleed out and die. She had to let bygones be bygones. She had to relent. “The fact remains that they want another war, and we don’t. There are, of course, extenuating circumstances. But that’s the core of it.”
Fleeting moments of repose flooded the field. Yuki pondered, his chin held up by the same fingers he held his freshly washed brush. Finally, his tools cleaned and easel folded, the swordsman silently knelt down beside each of them. To each wound he had carved into their flesh, he applied a violet powder. As soon as the fine dust was rubbed in, the pain almost completely vanished from their minds. A dull one remained, but no longer did they ache and burn.
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“This smell…” Sato muttered.
A curious look came upon Ma’at’s face. “It is familiar, but I can’t tell what it is.”
“It’s Tranquility, isn’t it?” Tien asked their healer.
“Yes, but do not worry about any side effects. Grounded up and fed into the bloodstream, the flowers do not cause the same relaxing high as they would when burned and smoked. They only numb the pain and facilitate tissue growth.”
“It really is a miracle plant, then. I had heard of its application from some apothecary friends of mine.” The witch let a somber chuckle tickle her throat.
“Miracle? I’m not so sure,” the swordsman gave a terse reply. Soon, he finished his work and stepped away, admiring the damaged area. Admiring what was left of his mesmerizing techniques. “...I knew you’d say as much.” The feminine shadow eternally holding him in a loving embrace whispered more silent words into his ear. “I know. If it’s going to be anyone, let it be one of us. Mm? Her?” He turned to gaze upon the Sirithisian getting to her feet. Her messy onyx hair and glowing eyes the hue of leaves in autumn. “What do you know of that woman? Isfet?”
“Isfet…” Ma’at murmured. “I should’ve known she’d been leading the Nye Inkorpt. Fits her too well.” She pondered awhile, soaking in her own worry.
“That bully from your memories?” Sato asked. “That was her?”
“The same. Still burnt to a crisp after all these years,” Camelia laughed. “Nothing can heal from my flames.”
“That wasn’t the last time I saw her, though.”
“But your memories…”
“They were fragments, not the whole picture.” The witch corrected the Maiden politely.
Ma’at nodded. “There was a time when we were soldiers fighting side by side. Back then, she said her reasons were the same as my own. That she wanted to put an end to the war, no matter what. But it was all a lie. She only wanted to crush Sirithis and come out alive in the end. I can’t exactly blame her, though. It was our loss from the moment the three cities united.”
“...She only sought power, Ma’at. That was all there was to it. To what end, I have no idea. But don’t paint over her crimes. She was every bit as deserving to rot in a cell as we were, yet she escaped Altruin’s peacekeepers just in time.”
The Swordstress looked down upon hearing Camelia’s words. “I know. But she was so sincere then. I didn’t want to believe all of that was an act. I truly believed she had changed since that time when we were young.”
“I see…” Yuki laughed, completely uncharacteristic to his usual taciturn, warrior-like mindset. “Oh Umbra, you have never and will never fail me. …Swordstress, you shall spirit me away to a future in which I can retrieve my blade. To a future in which I can paint my most prized painting yet.”
“Does that mean…?” Tien questioned him, aghast.
The ronin nodded, his resolve as steel. “I will accompany you, as you said before. But in the event Vroque ever tries to bend my will again, I will not hesitate to climb to the top of their ivory tower and slaughter them all.”
Tien accepted his declaration with hope swelling in her chest. There was a tinge of anxiety too of course, but it was no different to the anxious thoughts one would have before setting off on one final journey. “You’ll need a weapon, then. A paintbrush won’t do you any good.” She knelt, drudged through the dark cosmos, and procured a sword they hadn’t seen in quite some time. She held out the weapon to him; it was of clean make, filled with jagged constellations and vivid starlight. As though it were solar-powered, as soon as it entered the open air and was bathed in the sun’s dusky glow, cerulean energy burned beneath its cool exterior.
The swordsman accepted the sword, studying it intently.
“It used to belong to a Nye Inkorpt agent named Rei. We didn’t know much about him, but the moves he pulled off weren’t totally dissimilar to your own.”
Yuki gripped the weapon hard, holding it in an overhead stance. His serene eyes centered, honed in on his target, then twitched. He flew forward, throwing three slashes before pulling it back toward his waist. With a well-placed piercing strike, he dealt the final blow. The tree he had abused was cut here and there by azure light. Following his immaculate attacks, it fell into pieces, scattering the blasted clearing with diced twigs and branches. Glittering afterimages of the ronin seemed to ebb and flow from his form, just as it had when Rei was its wielder.
As if fed up with the swordsman’s abuse, the frozen tree, encased in rime by Lomm, finally cracked and broke apart above him. All of the pieces missed him… save one.
Bonk!
And Yuki, still with a warrior’s smirk gracing his lips, fell to the ground limp and unconscious.
A moment of absolute silence took hold. No one dared speak a word or let a laugh escape their mouths for fear of the man’s wrath. But there was no sign of movement.
“Huh? Wha…? What an imbecile,” Camelia spat. She shook her head at the sheer madness of the man, cackling like the witch she was.
Tien sighed. “Come on, let’s take him back to the blacksmith with us. I’ll load his stuff into my case.”
“O-Oh no! I didn’t mean… I didn’t…!”
“It’s okay, girl. Wasn’t your fault.”
“Mhm,” Tien agreed. “I think he might’ve been a little too excited by my gift.”
They began to carry him back through the woods, and as they did, Sato could swear the clinging shadow was shaking her head in disbelief.
“Hello~ Wakey, wakey.”
Yuki felt an annoying pull at his body, and an even more obnoxious voice tearing him from his deep, primordial slumber. He opened his eyes and found himself back at the cabin he’d stolen the levinshards from. A thin trail of smoke left its chimney and was lost in the darkening sky. The ocean above seemed calmer now. No words could be discerned, only the usual omnipresent beauty.
“I-I’m so, so sorry mister swordsman sir! I hadn’t even noticed it was breaking… and it was too late by the time it hit you on the head…! Please forgive me!” The little northerner girl was practically sobbing, tears drip-dropping onto her lenses, as she pleaded at his feet.
He flashed her a bemused, kind smile. “...No, forgive me. Frankly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“One of her ice blocks fell on your head, dumbo.” Sato delivered the synopsis with perfect, albeit insincere, clarity.
“Mm. I see. Then there’s nothing to apologize for. The mistake was mine and mine alone. Please, stop crying.”
Lomm wiped the tears from her eyes, then moved to clean her glasses. “Alright. If you say so, mister.”
“What!? Are you sure?” Ma’at’s astonished voice echoed from the other end of the giant’s home.
“Stopped swordsman. Enough… for Fulgur.”
“But… they took the levinshards. The least we could’ve done was take back at least a couple of them, but we came back with nothing at all. I can’t accept these.” She spoke of the reforged blades the elemental had handed her. They resembled her original serrated swords, brand new, although they carried a new spark in the metal that was sure to have empowered them beyond their past means.
“Take. Think as a gift. From friend to friend.” The gentle giant carried within him a light beyond mere levin; a kindness bestowed upon him by the very earth ordered him to help the travelers in any way he could.
Ma’at finally accepted the blades, the reforged pieces of her heart and soul. They were surely imbued with the elemental’s kind light as well as her own. Binded together, her emotions made manifest, she would be able to fight at a level she couldn’t before. Maybe, she thought. Maybe this is enough. Enough to cut down Beatrice. Enough to fight her on equal ground.
“It’s time we depart,” Tien said unceremoniously. “As much as I’d like to spend the night here at your cozy cabin, the Cloudstriker leaves soon.”
“Aww… would have been fun to spend a little longer with you all,” Lomm admitted. “I think I’ll stay here until my family finds me. Despite everything, it was a fun ride.” The airship lights in the far distance gave her mixed feelings, but meeting the women from Vroque had surely balanced the good with the bad. “I hope you all find what you’re looking for.”
What I’m looking for? But the Sirithisian had already found it. Her dear friend Camelia, the Witch of Warmth, was at her side alive and well. A miracle she could still scarcely believe. I suppose… with the right perspective, anything could be seen as a miracle. And she remembered what the lady in black had said that day. She was the one who called it a miracle. Her awful power had slain Grin. Was it she who brought about this future? If so, why? Why would she kill someone whom she could have, one day, called a friend while guiding her to her goal all the same?
Enigmas weren’t so hard for Ma’at to understand. The name didn’t always fit the creatures they dealt with. Their emotions were usually front and center, unconcealed compared to the average person, stifling their true feelings. No, Beatrice Blackthorn was a true enigma. Someone, something she simply could not fathom.
