Clang! Clang! Clang!

The walls of Espada’s shop echoed with the stringent, rhythmic ring of hammer to metal. Smithing was solid and sure, like the passing of time. Any material, any shape; she could do it. Her father had taught her how in another life long ago.

A woman could learn a lot with so many lives to her name.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Espada lifted the glowing knife from the table and quenched it in oil. The satisfying sizzle turned her ears, and she flicked what was left of her tail to the side. It was a hell of an expensive way to finish her weapons, but Nauka had perfected the quenching recipe and kept it coming in exchange for [Alchemy] tools.

A shadow appeared in her shop’s doorway.

Talk of the devil, and she’s on your tail.

“I’m surprised you’re working today, girly,” Nauka called, shuffling over the threshold.

“Your knife’s not done yet, Granny.” Espada had refrained from the title for years, but hearing the kittens say it so often had forced it to finally trickle into her vocabulary.

“Nah. I’m not worried about that.” Nauka waddled closer, leaned far over the counter, and set a tall, dark bottle to the side. “I’m worried about you.”

Every fucking year’s going to be like this, isn’t it? “I’m fine, Granny.”

Nauka pushed the bottle closer to the edge. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, girly.”

Espada pulled the blade from the oil, examining her craftsmanship. The edge glittered in the light of the coals, and the spine was a perfect, straight edge. Somehow, Nauka had snapped the tip of her last one, but the new knife should last far beyond the ancient woman’s years.

“You know, most people get to celebrate their name days, Starbirth, Cherishing Day, the sentimental rubbish that all the little kittens get bright-eyed and bushy-tailed over.” Nauka sighed and pulled the cork from the bottle before taking a swig. “Instead, each year while mourning the passing of our beloved late queen, I hafta wonder why a Queen’s Guard appeared in Junonia. On my porch. In the middle of the damn night. Covered in so much blood she shoulda been dead.”

Espada’s fingers clenched harder around the knife’s handle. Her knuckles turned white. “Have you ever thought about not wondering?”

Nauka cackled, then sucked her teeth. “I’ve been on this island for more years than you have hairs on your stubby little tail, girly. All I do is wonder.”

“Guess you’ll have to be content to keep wondering then, hm?” Espada set the blade aside and marched to the counter. She snatched the bottle from Nauka’s hand and took a drink. It burned on the way down—strong as hell. Probably brewed by the granny herself. She dug in her apron for a few Bells and slid them across the counter. “Thanks for the bottle. Your knife’ll be done tomorrow.”

Nauka covered Espada’s hand with hers. “I know what pain looks like, Espada. And I know what I saw on your face that night. That’s not something a young woman should hafta bear alone.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Espada ripped her arm away from the [Alchemist]. “You don’t know a goddess-damned thing.”

Nauka looked behind her, then lowered her voice. “Did someone put ya up to it?”

The coals hissed as Espada narrowed her eyes. Her chipped ears flattened to her head. “You think I killed her?”

“I don’t know what to think unless you tell me,” Nauka pressed, her expression impossible to read.

“Alright. Shop’s fucking closed.” Rage rippled through Espada’s veins, and a red haze framed her gaze. “Get out, Nauka.”

“Now you look here, girly—”

“Get out!” Espada bellowed, slamming her fist onto the countertop.

Nauka slowly straightened and shook her head. She murmured an unintelligible train of words as she shuffled out of the shop.

Espada slammed the door behind her, setting the lock and breathing hard. Her hands shook, and she leaned her forehead against the door. Nauka would never understand. No one would ever understand.

With one last kick against the door, she swiped the bottle from the counter and killed the flames of her furnace before culling the meager lamps that illuminated her workspace.

Her home was attached to the back of her shop; a modest cottage with one bedroom set away from the kitchen. Very few decorations adorned the walls—gifts, mostly, from some of the girls in Junonia or clients in Nyarlothep. Trinkets and baubles that kept the place from feeling abandoned.

But there wasn’t much she could do to keep it from feeling empty.

Every fucking year.

Espada took another drink and moved through the kitchen.

In her bedroom was a small chest of drawers that held her limited wardrobe and linens. She lit a candle, then sat cross-legged before it, cradling the bottle in her hands.

For a few minutes, she hesitated, staring at the copper handles she’d forged to fit. Why take it out? What good would it do?

“Because it’s all I have left of you,” she murmured.

She set the bottle to the side, then pulled the bottom drawer entirely out of the chest before sliding a tiny key from a pocket in her belt. She reached into the shadowed rectangle and fingered for the nearly imperceptible lock on the bottom of the next drawer. Once she found it, she slid the key’s pin inside, turned it to the left until it clicked, then carefully lowered the locked box into her hands and out into the open.

It was a smooth wooden case of a simple design. The only way to unlock it was with a ring she’d forged that held the matching signet; a complex pattern of lines and swirls that looked like decorative filigree. But if you held it up to the light at just the right angle, it cast a silhouette portrait of a woman. Of Melasia.

‘We have the rare chance to start anew. If we cannot carve a new path, then who?’

“Eight years without you, Melasia. Not a damn thing’s changed,” Espada replied to the queen’s words in her head. “I think I’m the only one that remembers you anymore.”

‘Why must we hide? Why musn’t we love?’

Espada slid the ring from her finger and then pushed it into the lock. The mechanism caught and released, and she carefully lifted the lid. Three items were positioned in place with expensive pieces of plush blue velvet—the last of Espada’s unbloodied Queen’s Guard cloak.

A lock of Melasia’s shining hair. A love letter Espada had carried with her in so many battles against Defiled that it was crinkled and worn. And the Queen of Nyarela’s crown.

Espada stroked the lock of hair. It was as soft and silken as the day Melasia had tied it with a white ribbon and promised Espada to keep it with her always. She had the words on Melasia’s letter memorized.

‘No matter where your journey takes you, you must always return to me, my savior.’

She traced a finger over the delicate golden contours, remembering the perfect curve and frame it had around Melasia’s ears. Hundreds of tiny sapphires glimmered from within their settings, and three large stones stood prominently at the front. It was meant to mirror Saoirse’s mask, just as Melasia was meant to mirror Saoirse’s teachings.

And one man had shattered it all.

[https://i.imgur.com/PcRx63v.png]