HERA

Her first task with a new start was to run an errand. Hera didn’t know if that was an omen about her choice of future.

For the first time, she was the one wielding Black Meridian, Zeta’s sword. She took care to memorize the name. For all the flaws of its owner, it was without a doubt a high-quality blade. Sleek, obsidian black with an elegant shine that complemented its dark, patterned hilt. It deserved a name, and she was glad it had one. Zeta had no qualms with placing it in her care, which she supposed was a sign of the trust he gave her about the whole ‘Servant of Humanity’ deal.

Hmm, maybe this errand isn’t an omen at all.

Regardless of the state of Black Meridian, it had undoubtedly been through an ordeal. Little chips plagued the black steel, the tiny teeth missing its jagged, lethal brethren. Dirt and blood had dried on the handle, and some stains could not be cleaned off with a simple rag. The porous dents in the sword seeped with filth as if it were sewage swept off the streets and into the gutters.

It needed a blacksmith for analysis and repair. Thankfully, Hera knew one, so the sword was given to her while Zeta searched for a means to the Selatin Kingdom. She still wasn’t comfortable with heading to that destination, but she was even less comfortable with telling Zeta why. Hera planned to endure and promised to herself that society there had changed. Unfortunately, she had a gut feeling she would end up disappointed.

The medics were eager to dismiss them from the ship. Hera couldn’t blame them. While its fun to be tended for and it makes the healer’s heart feel well to help another, it becomes tiresome when you stick around too long. It didn’t help that Zeta consumed half the steak rations onboard the ship. Hera still couldn’t fathom how that was possible. Never before had she seen a monster devour charred flesh so fast as Zeta gobbled down the steak.

They had only been incapacitated for several days total, yet Hera was sure Zeta did more harm than good to the relief supplies in that short tenure.

Wandering through Aspic was a depressing affair. While the sight of reconstruction was supposed to bring Hera hope, she became a quick witness to the reality of Rex’s devastation. Almost nothing was spared. Even if a building didn’t topple, it was likely to be missing a second floor. Street and sidewalk features, once standing upright and unblemished, now had bends like elders suffering from scoliosis. Some streets were relatively okay, and the populace had returned, albeit reluctantly. However, there was an overall atmosphere of regret and despair.

Passing Phil’s Sigma Shop, she frowned. The uniform diamond, the universal symbol for sigmas, was fractured as if it were personally blasted with a cannonball. A chunk of rock had smashed the upper floors, and the debris cluttered the shop floor. All the inventory had either disappeared or been destroyed. Apparently, some rioting broke out in the latter half of the chaos.

The man himself sat outside the front door, his soul beaten and his head collapsed into his knees. Hera offered her condolences while also explained her immediate departure. It was something he needed to know. She was one of his biggest clients. It pained Hera to offer worse news atop of everything he already lost, and she imagined he’d be angry, but he took it well.

Phil’s street was her favorite, mostly because she was acquainted with pretty much everyone there. Yes, for ‘business’ reasons. Weapons were rarely her interest, but there was an excellent smith at the end of this street.

When she arrived, she saw to her disappointment that the smith had not been spared the rod of wrath. However, it was not a complete wreck of despair. Half of the shop (and his home) had crumbled into nothing, but the other half (the forge itself) remain intact down to every mite of dust. An unquestionable miracle for his business. Outside, there he was, hammering away as if nothing had ever happened while embers skimmed across his callused hands and unkempt facial hair. Like his neighbors, he had succumbed to the city’s gloom.

“Oh, hello Harpy,” he said over his shoulder as she approached.

“It’s Hera now, Leikwel.”

“Dropped the codename? Figures. I’m surprised to see you alive. I thought all of Rex’s people were dead or arrested.”

Hera put a finger up, her eyes in a panicked state to shut him up. “Please don’t refer to me as such. I’d rather not be incarcerated. I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I left Balder’s hell shortly before this city went to hell.”

He chuckled. His face brightened. “I’d call it luck, but you are a Mind focus, so I’m not surprised you made the smart move.”

“Thank you.” She held up Black Meridian. “I…made an acquaintance recently, and he’s a better partner than Rex ever was. His sword has dulled, can you sharpen it?”

“Hah! Can I sharpen it? Hera, don’t make me retract that comment about your intelligence.” He snatched the blade and examined it up and down. His eyes widened. “Hmm? A model from the Eastern Shelf? God damn, this is a great piece of work! Your partner is no mere soldier, that’s for sure.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” she said.

“Although, maybe he could treat the blade with some better care? Thing looks like it cut up the city by itself.”

In a way, it kind of did. Of course, Hera kept her mouth shut.

“Smith’s Scanner,” Leikwel said. His eyes glowed gray as he examined the sword with a special blacksmith-based sigma that performed automatic weapon appraisals. A Craft type, no less. It’s why Hera considered him the best in the city.

He raised an eyebrow, furrowing his thick, brown mustache. “Strange. Smith’s Scanner is obstructed somehow. Read.”

“Is there something wrong?” Hera asked.

His eyes stopped glowing, but they remained pried open. “Not necessarily wrong, but definitely odd. Have you ever Read the sword yourself?”

“Read the sword? Why would I do that? Read is meant for Sigmas, Scores, and Inventories.” This was basic knowledge to everyone except this sword’s dumbass owner. Read Sigma, Read Score, and Read Inventory were all apart of the Standard Set.

“Just do it, please.”

Hera shut her eyes and opened them to Read Black Meridian. What!

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

An empty frame filled her vision, a gray background. It was the same frame used when reading sigmas, except this one was absent of text. Whether reading a person or a sigma, that should never happen.

“What on…” she trailed off.

“Did your partner ever mention where he acquired this sword?”

“Partially, although I don’t know the details. I think he inherited it from his master.” Hera shook her head. “That’s so strange. It’s as if the sword is registered as a sigma–”

“But the details are missing. It’s moments like now where I wish we knew more about sigmas as a whole. I’d call it an error in the system, except I’ve never known a sigma to fail,” Leikwel said.

“I’ll ask him about it sometime. We’ve agreed not to share too much with each other so soon. It’s healthier that way.” Hera said.

“Be careful that you do, Hera. He may be hiding something, and that something may be sinister. I’d be wary of your partner if he doesn’t mention this on his own.”

“Okay…thanks for the advice.” That was just the problem, however. She trusted Zeta, and she doubted that even he was aware of what the sword was. Until last week, he couldn’t even employ a sigma. “Regardless, can it be fixed?”

“Of course, Hera. However, forgive me if I sound old, but mysterious blades are red flags to work with. If you want me to sharpen this, I’m charging extra, even for an old friend.”

She opened her pouch and sighed. To pay Leikwel would take most of what she had left. According to her idiot partner, they would have ‘no trouble with money’ in this career, but every string of rational thought told her otherwise. Zeta, you owe me for this!

----------------------------------------

Before Hera returned to the docks, she decided to pass through her street. The area was the root of Balder’s campaign of devastation, and hardly any of it had proper repair, so it was vacant and silent, absent of the living and filled with pale memories and shattered fates.

Walking down the street was like walking through a latent minefield. Hera’s neck hairs raised as if the idle cobblestone rubble would roll over her as she glanced away. The quiet did not suit the street.

It had only been several years, yet nostalgia flooded her sense as she wandered through the ruin. An onset of blue settled with her to see the quaint sector destroyed.

As she reached her former home, the sadness grew worse like an increase in gravity tugging on her emotions, until finally, the house itself came into view…as smithereens. Even residual lines of gray smoke lingered, wafting their heat Hera’s way.

What would Mrs. Olgue think if she came home to this?

Then she noticed a torn shaft of wood fly out of the rubble, trailed with sawdust. Distinct clangs rang through the quiet from her home. The small shadow of a figure on the downstairs floor sifted and morphed as it moved with the individual, whom Hera assumed was scrounging for valuables. A looter. How pathetic.

She crept closer, intent to scare the scavenger away. Hera knew that the people were desperate, but that didn’t excuse resorting to savage behaviors. Well, maybe she could forgive them. After all, she didn’t own the house, she never did, and would it really hurt to make use of lost supplies no one would be expected to return for? Of course it does! Some of that stuff is mine!

She caught wind of the hooded figure and whistled to snag its attention. If they were hostile, she imagined she could handle them. However, the figure turned her way, and Hera stopped cold when she saw the face beneath the hood.

“Mrs. Olgue!” she said aloud.

Her neighbor, shrouded in a brown cloak, paused in trembling fear. Olgue’s eyes widened before she darted away from Hera in a nimble sprint.

“Hey, wait!”

Olgue ignored her, attempting to slip into the alleys and wreckage that cluttered the town. Hera refused to let her get away, although she couldn’t understand how the woman was so damn swift at her age.

“Where have you been?” she asked. No answer.

The brown cloak bothered Hera. It was definitely familiar. Could she be…? No, that didn’t make sense. The figure who saved them in the sewer was a man. In fact, she still wanted to thank him for that, even if she didn’t understand why he maintained Chilling Presence at all times of the day.

Eventually, the pursuit abandoned the desolate ruins of Hera’s street and returned to an active population. Hera was shocked to know that she hadn’t lost the woman yet. There was an anomaly about her neighbor, however. It was definitely Mrs. Olgue, yet…was it? Something about her didn’t look right.

The crowds grew thicker. Damn! She ran into a refugee camp. The reconstruction efforts repurposed functioning areas of the city to accommodate more residents, so naturally, these areas had a denser populace for the time being. It was too easy to let Olgue get away, and Hera lost sight of her.

Hera shifted through the crowd, yet couldn’t find Mrs. Olgue. Ugh! She wanted to tear her skin off in frustration. Why was her neighbor running? Did she not recognize Hera? What the hell is going on!

Fortune had not abandoned Hera, and with some luck, she saw the brown cloak’s shadow pass through the alley. Hera did not hesitate to resume pursuit. She’d solve this mystery even if it were the last thing she did in Aspic.

Hera peeked around the corner, and she saw Mrs. Olgue paranoid, glancing every which way for her. Hera took care not to be ‘noticed’ anymore, leaving Mrs. Olgue in ambiguous uncertainty.

Okay, not screwing this up again. Follow Nat quietly.

Carefully, she trailed Mrs. Olgue through Aspic. Hera’s eyes were locked to the back of the woman’s head, ignorant of everything else.

Which is why she bumped into a man headfirst, and he seemed to be searching for her.

ZETA

“Oh, there you are, Hera!” Zeta said.

“Shh!” she hissed, pointing down the road. “Not within earshot!”

Zeta followed her gaze to a brown-cloaked individual down the road. Whoever they are, they were awfully suspicious. “Are you after her? Why?”

“That’s my neighbor. The one who's been missing!”

“Oh! Her! The one whose room I borrowed. I know she’s your friend and all, but you really need to tell her to lay off the makeup.” Hera ignored him, her eyes laser-focused on her target, a stalking predator in a public space. Zeta’s mouth split into a mischievous grin. “Have you tried saying ‘hello?’”

“Shut up, or I’m going to lose her! Follow me if you must.”

He adopted Hera’s crouched pose and crept through the city as they trailed the brown cloaked neighbor. Zeta needed to explain to Hera that drawing eyes the way they currently were doing did not equate to ‘stealth.’

It reminded him of another matter. “How’s Black Meridian?”

Without looking at him nor saying a word, she passed his prized blade back to him. Nice and polished. All the dents were smoothened, the dirt cleansed. The teeth drew blood from the slightest contact with skin. His eyes widened in a glassy ecstasy “Beautiful,” he said, joyful tears welling in the corneas.

Their pursuit continued for a short while until finally, the neighbor stopped near the warehouses at the docks. She itched in angst as she checked every direction around her from heaven to hell. Nobody was around, at least visibly anyway, except for her.

A man stepped from the shadows, donning a similar brown cloak and a greedy grin of ill intent. Both Zeta and Hera went pale at his familiar sight. They had wondered about the brown cloak Hera’s neighbor wore, but now the knot had tightened.

They were barely in range of the man's Chilling Presence.

Smith's Scanner - Craft: Provides the user a detailed, expert analysis of the physical condition of any weapon as well as the state of the materials it is primarily composed of. (64).

* (A) Simply use the VC while analyzing the target weapon.

* The physical presence of the target weapon is required. Images and drawings will not suffice.

* Smith's Scanner provides a full appraisal of a weapon. It reports the state of the various parts, the absence of certain parts, the estimated age and the estimated value of any conventional weapon.

* (!) If a weapon is unconventional in either form or function, Smith's Scanner will not work. Such weapons should be appraised traditionally by an experienced smith.