“Codex Open…”

A faint white glow envelops my forearms. Sparkles of excess mana burst out of its light, crackling like firecrackers, and descend to the ground, swaying with the night's cold wind as they dissipate before any can graze the dirt. The longer I hold still my arms, the more the glow starts to throb.

After a while, I unravel my closed fists and direct my palms towards the unlit pit of sticks just a step ahead. Before I recite the next part of the incantation, I steady my breath and calm my nerves, ensuring a laminar flow for my mana in my Arcananerbyoso.

“Access Ability: Four Style. Open Ability Codex. Switch—On. Fire Dance.” I breathe and follow up with my desired spell, “Fireball.”

A small pocket of air in front of my palms bursts into a fiery, orange orb of light, howling right after as the light roars ablaze into a ball of searing flames carrying the hues of the sun. Not even moments after their conjuring, the flames make an attempt to rebel against my control. Their oscillation grows erratic and more fervent, their desires to ravage everything in these lands growing stronger, no thanks to them feeding onto the desires within me. But, no matter their struggle, I resist and tighten the leash I have on them.

Through my mind, I evoke a command to release the fireball from the grasp of my Arcana, granting it its will to raze all it wishes in this world—but only the unlit pit of sticks I wish to be lit. I have respect for this earth, after all.

The fireball hurls itself towards the pit, its cry of passion dissipating into the breeze as it consumes the bark of the branches I had collected. Though they have no mouth, the sticks manifest their screams of pain through hiss and sizzles. Slowly, their rough brown shells shrivel into fragile black pieces, and all underneath their skin pulverizes into black ash, barely clinging to life, waiting to be blown away by the next gust of the wind.

Meanwhile, the ferocity of the flames grows no weaker. Though the frigid air of the night attempts to tackle it with all it can, it remains still—unwilling, unrelenting to the will of the wind. In fact, with each blow it takes, the stronger it gets.

The warmth blanketing my body becomes warmer. My muscles, rigid from the exhaustion of a long day, finally loosen. The paces of my heart slither to a slower pace. And, finally, the thoughts scattered across my mind by panic and fear are slowly put back into place, tucked away like books on a shelf.

Convinced of my safety, I let my guard down—a rarity these past weeks. I sit on the ground, one knee raised with an arm placed on it. Then, with a single huff of air from my lungs, all my worries are pushed out of my system.

After such a long day, I am rewarded with a luxury—time for relief. Many of my nights would be spent atop the rooftops of manors or street buildings, sneaking under the black guise of the night to rid this world of one more member of the Ozaki Clan, all in the pursuit of Fisk. However, as of tonight… that would be delayed.

With this much time, I have nothing else better to do than just ready myself for what may come.

Based on my prior treks through this area and experience with my guild, the time it takes for an entire fully-armoured and supplied party from the starting point of Bluegate Pass to this cliff at the midpoint should be roughly an hour or so. An additional forty minutes should suffice for my assumptions, especially given that they are with a carriage as heavy as the one Makoto and the parchment described, and the pathway across the river would be a slight struggle for their crew.

That now aside, the actual trip time. Based on the parchment Makoto gave me, the trip for the carriage leaves at roughly eight in the evening, which aligns with my knowledge of the routines of the Ozaki. Judging from the moon's current position, it should be around six in the evening. If I am correct, I still have plenty more time.

I sigh. If only a watch were inexpensive…

The modified net trap has already been set, hanging off the thick branches of a tall tree in the area. A few of my Aethero bombs already fill them all. Once either the carriage or any of the thirty-six Ozaki men trips the thin line I had taken off the Prismotous rods, the net will fall, the bombs will activate, and a few of them are sure to be killed by the sharp blades of air that will burst from each of those bombs.

But, if ever my calculations happen to be wrong and none are killed, my initial strike with that spear I bought from the man is certain to add at least five more to my count. I’ve sharpened his spear even further, so much so that their armour will be merely like straw walls.

The pieces for this battle have been set, and victory is all but guaranteed for me.

For now, I must rest. A long night is ahead.

…

Those flames…

How… mesmerizing they are.

Their unrefined dance. The untrained tones of their sizzling hymn. Their imperfect form. All are qualities some may find an eyesore.

But… instead… I am in a trance.

The longer my gaze fixates on it, the more this feeling grows—the feeling of being absolved. The fog of worries and sins clouding my mind grows thin, melting into a fine mist that gives way to an evanescent clarity. Even if only for a while… I feel as if I am aware of what fate has readied for me. I feel as if… all of this isn’t for nought.

I feel… as if… he is beside me.

I close my eyes.

Ah… how great this is.

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This swaddling warmth is much like his. On cold nights like these, he’d see that this feeling would be there for me. I can vividly recall it… He’d be deep into his dreams with his arms tightly wrapped around my body, his face sank into the comforts of my chest, and his warmth thawing away the coldness that bit onto me.

This feeling… is one I had long lost. It is one that I’ve longed for. I want to relish it even longer.

…

“Kotoko,” a familiar voice calls. A voice… much like his.

Fisk…?

My eyes are lured open by the voice.

…

But I am not greeted by my husband’s presence.

Instead, I return to that hell I had faced the night before.

Much like what I had last seen, the woods remain ablaze. The tenacity of the flames knows no end as they continue to subjugate all in this realm with their torturous claws. The pungent smell has grown fouler. Having long been violated by the fire, the blades have blackened, and their handles are now ashes lost to the control of the wind. More bodies pile on the ground, their flesh more withered than the last I saw them. Before, I could recognise some of them, but now no longer. All of them have turned into charred, black husks.

But, unlike before, the force that pulls me into this realm has returned my control over my body. Oh, how thankful I am for its ever-great mercy… Tch.

I lower my head, hoping for even a solemn moment. Instead, I find a photograph burning at the tip of my feet.

“...?!” My eyes widen.

That photograph…

It’s from the day I first exchanged vows with him.

I pick it up as quickly as I can, desperate to get another look at his face, even if only in a dream. The flames burning the photograph have left everything at Fisk’s side untouched, while for everything in mine, the flames have torn and burnt, leaving only blackened edges with luminous orange edges. An irremovable layer of soot taints my side in the picture, leaving only fragments of it visible to me. Most of all, a large circular tear is all that is left where my face is supposed to be.

“Kotoko,” the voice calls once more, much more audible than the last.

Instinctively, I turn to the voice, praying I am not greeted with the horrid sight of tentacles this time but instead with the open arms of Fisk, ready to embrace me.

And right I was.

Off in the distance in the sea of corpses, a figure glowing with a bright white light hovers motionless. Though it flares with a blinding radiance, I can barely make its figure to be that of Fisk’s.

“Fisk, is that you…?” I call out to it.

Some things in this life are not what as seem—that much I should know. But what else is there left for me to lose? I’ve nothing but my sorrow, despair, and a thousand sins crawling through the bloodied mud of my trail, all to deliver my inevitable retribution.

And so, I take a step forward towards the figure.

Before my feet can plant themselves in the ground, I find myself in a place—one as familiar as the burning fields of my childhood home.

Soaked and deteriorated woven straw mats line the spacious room's floor. Grass and flora have already begun to consume what they can in this room through the tiny tears between the mats, reclaiming the fields on which this training room was built. Curls of the peeling pale yellow paint scatter around the edges, revealing beneath them the weathered wood planks of the walls.

Tiny rays of light beam into the room through the cracks all over the sagging, dripping wooden roof, illuminating the space with just enough to grant me vision. The rice paper banners hang askew off the chipped log pillars above, swaying with the bit of motion they can manage with the slight air that passes through the holes in the wall.

Though it has long been five years, I couldn’t possibly forget the sight of this, even if I tried. How great it is to see you again, Dojo of the Shield… the place where he and I first exchanged gazes, traded swings, and nearly killed each other in a duel. Oh, those were the days.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t reminisce for long.

“Kotoko. Do you seek deliverance?” It calls again, uttering more than a single word this time.

I turn myself around in a circle, but I am by my lonesome in the room. Is this yet another delusion of my creation? Is this—

…

“Kch…!?” Blood gushes from my stomach and mouth.

A scorching sensation grips my stomach as I feel my innards being forcibly pushed out of me. Static fills my mind, and a haze rolls before my eyes, fogging my vision. The sparking and crackling of flames muffle my ears. The crimson hues of my blood soak my hands and paint the mats beneath me.

With what little control I’ve left of my dying body… I look down…

The sight of a black claymore impaling me through my stomach drenched in my guts and blood, greets my muddied eyes. The monochrome flames blazing along its length suddenly flare into a wild dance as it eats me from the inside. Its tittering embers bounce forth from the blade and towards just right before my toes as if teasing me with its desire to worsen my circumstances.

Bubbles start to form on my skin as my veins and arteries struggle to resist the boiling blood pushing against their walls as they course through me. My skin starts to blacken, and soon, the flames engulf me in my entirety, charring me.

I try to scream, but my throat could force no words out of my mouth. In my suffering, I am left with no privilege to beg and cry for help.

With what little of myself I have left, I am left with but only one desire—to face my killer.

I push my muscles to their limit just to turn my neck so that I may face the one who brought me my demise in this delusion of mine. Had my throat been left untouched, a deafening scream would be bleating out of me by now.

Then, finally, my eyes meet with that of my killer—a pale female with long, fluffy red hair tied into a ponytail that cascades to just right above her thighs. Her scarlet eyes, sharp and piercing, complemented the few scars on her face, and so too did the black kimono that she donned.

But, any more than that, I can no longer discern as the flames that engulfed me grow furious. They howl one final roar that boils with an insatiable hunger to consume. The heat gnawing at me intensifies to infernal levels. In one merciless surge, the flames flare once more, slashing every bit of me with their fiery claws and consuming me until all that’s become of me is ash, until only but a tiny whisper of smoke is all that is left as a memory of me,

…

Then I awoke.