One year ago.

Svan was observant, often studying others as they did whatever they were doing. Her black hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and she wore a leather arming doublet. She stood behind her friend, her hands clasped at her belt line as the two stood in Valor Hall.

Matilda’s hair was dirty-blond with an identical attire. She studied an all black katana and scabbard, finally unseating the blade. Her nose scrunched as she looked at the sword’s curve. She shook the weapon, then her head. “What is it?” she asked, looking to the man that accompanied them.

“It is a sword—Nightfall,” Emeric replied.

Matilda groaned. “Yeah, I can see what it’s supposed to be, but what’s it for?”

“It is for you to test, as per Brandrrafn’s request.”

Both Svan and Matilda turned to him, the name capturing their attention like a prey animal hearing a branch snap nearby. “This is from Brandrrafn directly?” asked Svan.

Emeric nodded. “It is. This sword was his last creation.”

Svan’s hand raised, covering her mouth. “His last? So, he’s…”

Emeric sighed. “He is.”

Clang! sounded out. Clang-clang!

Svan spun, orienting on the noise to find Matilda with her sword drawn from the scabbard on her back. The katana’s tip rested on a table as she struck it with her longsword.

Emeric reached in protest as Matilda’s sword came over again and slammed into the side of the katana. Clang! “You cannot be serious!” Emeric yelled.

Matilda looked at him as if just remembering he was present. “What? You said B wanted us to test it. You never said how.”

Svan giggled.

Matilda inspected the side of the katana, shook it again, then judged its weight. “It’s not as frail as it looks. But it has an awkward balance.”

“I believe it is to be used with both hands,” Emeric replied.

Matilda nodded, resheathing her longsword. She wrapped both hands around the katana hilt before moving through various swings and strikes. Her eyes followed the blade edge, pivoting her grip to keep it forward no matter the direction she moved. “The single edge is a disadvantage,” she said, still moving. “Why would he knowingly make an inferior blade?”

Neither answered her as she moved through sword forms. She moved over to a wall, then slashed and impaled a hanging bag. Her gaze shifted to the bag as granules poured out onto the floor’s blue padding. She pointed to it. “B didn’t make that one.”

Emeric’s hand was over his eyes as he shook his head and looked down, Svan giggling beside him. “That is not for blade training,” Emeric chided. “It is a punching bag and is…was for conditioning.”

“What’s this all about, Lord Emeric?” Svan asked. “Why are we here?”

Emeric met Svan’s gaze and seemed to deflate. “The girl you met in the next room.”

“Is that what that was?” Matilda asked.

“Do not judge her poorly. She is suffering and it was Brandrrafn’s desire that you train her, then bequeath her the sword once she is capable enough to wield it.”

“Training and a sword from B? Why? Who even is she?”

“She is his daughter and mourning his sudden departure.”

Svan and Matilda exchanged glances. “Of course we’ll help,” Svan said. “But why does she need this training and why us?”

Emeric shrugged. “Why you? I cannot know. But our Brandrrafn did not do things idly or without purpose. The girl, Mioko, needs this training—this conditioning. Without it, she will die. Her body is consuming itself. The only way to stop it is with strengthening. She can heal, but it is too weak to offset this consumption.”

Matilda laid the katana over her shoulder, then walked over and clapped Emeric on the back. “Don’t worry, Em. We’ll get her shitted out.”

Emeric blinked as laughter erupted from Svan.

Matilda looked between the two of them. “What? Did I do it wrong?”

Svan shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “Ignore her, Lord Emeric. I think she meant that we’d get her sorted out.”

Emeric narrowed his eyes. “Svan, have you been teaching this?”

“It’s fine,” Svan replied. “Matilda is the only one I share such things with. But her meaning is true. We will get this Mioko sorted out and see that she gets however strong her form allows.”

“Thank you. Oh, and another thing. She is not to know about your nature. Do not think of her as one of your own. She is utlendast. I seriously doubt Brandrrafn would have taught her anything about you, so expect that she will see you as she would see her kind.”

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Svan and Matilda looked to one another and nodded. “Don’t worry, Lord Emeric,” Svan replied. “We’ll take care of her.”

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Svan and Mioko sat cross-legged on the training floor, Nightfall resting in Mioko’s lap.

“You’re teaching her bad habits, Svan,” Matilda called, while straddling a punching bag and donning fight gloves. “This room’s for training, not for lounging.”

Svan waved her off.

“She’s not wrong,” Mioko said.

Svan raised a single finger. “Even in the sheath the sword must be sharp—so too must the mind and the spirit be within the body.” She beckoned towards Mioko’s lap. “May I see Nightfall?” She received it, then referred to the pendant clipped into the handgrip. “Do you know anything about this?”

Mioko shook her head. “No more than I do about Nightfall itself. Is that bird special somehow?”

“It’s not so much about the image as it is about the material. I think this is galdrauss—an exceedingly rare material. It’s magic related, but similar to a handshake—a coupling of complementary things.”

“So, why make an ornament out of something like that?”

Svan pressed her lips into a line.

After a moment, Mioko brought her knees up, hooking her arms around them as she looked away. “If it’s about Dad…I want to know.”

“Well, I didn’t know him personally. But given everything I’ve heard, he did things deliberately. So making this pendant out of this material…it’s not insignificant.” Svan unclipped and held it out, where Mioko accepted it.

A lockbridge twisted open alongside them and Svan shot to her feet. It showed a simple chair beside a nightstand, then closed. She looked at Mioko, who was still sitting but now clutched her legs with her head against her knees, the pendant in the floor.

She knows that place, Svan thought. But why there? Was that automatic? No, she handled the pendant previously without it opening. So, an activation. Or maybe a reaction? Was she thinking about that place? Maybe wanting to go there?

A sob broke Svan’s concentration. “Hey,” she said, squatting to eye level but seeing only the top of her head and trembling arms. “Let’s take a break, Lady Mioko. I could really use the breather. So, maybe try again tomorrow?”

Mioko departed, avoiding eye contact and hugging herself as she went.

Svan watched, her thoughts a whir. She collected the pendant and looked to the katana in her other hand. Wherever that portal went, she didn’t willingly bring it forth. A place she was already thinking about or related to her emotions? Hmm, no. He wouldn’t have used emotion to fuel travel. A wolf’s gaze flickered into her mind unbidden, instilling a sense of deja vu. Einmadr?

“Hey,” Matilda called. “We haven’t even fought yet. Where’s she going?”

Svan turned as Matilda approached. “She’s…got some things to take care of.”

Matilda gestured to Svan’s hand. “Looks like she’s back to running off without her weapon. What, she at a rag now or something?”

Svan canted her head and squinted. Then nodded. “On the rag. And no. She’s just fighting some internal battles at the moment.”

Matilda perked up. “Is she winning?”

“I can’t say.”

Matilda harrumphed, then slammed her fist into her palm. “If I ever fight me, I’ll beat my ass stupid. And definitely win.”

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Matilda was a cross between a badger and a hysterical snowball. She squatted into a fighting stance, magnifying her low center of gravity and opening her guard—an invitation for attack. In battle, she was a cat with a toy and a longer battle only meant she would grow more enthusiastic as it went on.

It was around two hours into training when Svan and Mioko looked towards the cackling Matilda. She laughed, continuing to taunt her swaying opponent. Her verbal brutality was on its way to developing its own legend—a shame the insults were lost on the punching bag.

Mioko sat on a bench beside Svan, shaking her head. “You’ve got to stop teaching her that stuff, Svan. It seems irresponsible somehow.”

“Pfft,” came the reply. “It builds character. Besides. This just proves what I said about her having only two speeds—on and off. I don’t think she’s capable of moderation.”

“That's concerning.”

Svan chuckled. “That is Matilda. But hey, I was thinking more on your portals and I don’t see why you can’t use them in battle. It would be an incalculable advantage. If you’re up for it, how about I give you a couple concepts to work with?”

“What do you have in mind?” Mioko asked, nodding.

“I was thinking about a hook, a drop, and a shield. It’s just some basic principles that you can build on and make your own.”

Mioko ran her thumb across the pendant in the katana braid. “A shield, I guess, would be opening one to block something. The drop, maybe an escape or a dodge. And a hook…something that comes from the side? Like the punch?”

Svan teetered her head. “More or less. Yeah, the shield could block. But can also redirect. The drop could be for you. Or for your opponent. But the hook…try thinking of that one as a way of bending your direction. Maybe you charge into the face of your opponent but pass into a portal that allows you to leap at him from behind. Or from above.”

“But wouldn’t that be a drop? If I’m coming from above?”

“Not exclusively because you’re entering horizontally. So there’s a bend that turns into a drop, you see? Tell you what, try opening one in front of us that looks down at Matilda.”

Mioko grinned, opening the lockspace in front of them. Her enthusiasm soon faded as she forced her eyes closed. The sight was difficult to process. It was as if they were looking through a window, where Matilda stood upright on an opposite wall.

Svan nudged her with her elbow, proffered a pair of boxing gloves, then gestured towards the antelock—the direction the lockspace would be crossed.

Mioko shook her head. “You are a terrible influence.”

Svan scoffed. “If I teach you nothing else, you’ll at least learn to properly pronounce fun-influence. Now, throw them in already.”

Mioko tossed a glove through, grinning as it ousted above Matilda.

“What are you doing?” came the forced whisper. “Throw the other and close it.”

Matilda laughed as the punching bag swung back to her. She stepped back, then retaliated. Jab, cross, jab, hook, uppercut—reversing her stance as the bag moved away. “Yeah.” she called. “You love this ass whoopin!”

Jab, jab, straight, uppercut—reverse, pursuit-step and hook. “Your grandkid’s getting birthed with a perpetual concussion! And a fear of knuckle-rain.”

Matilda stepped out as the bag returned, then pivoted away, where she punched a falling glove out of the air. She looked around, then stepped aside as another glove fell and bounced away from her. The training room was quiet, save the squeaky chain of the swinging bag and her sharp, rhythmic breathing cycle.

Matilda looked up to inspect the ceiling.

Mioko choked, while a reservoir dam broke next to her, Svan’s laughter erupting and the pressure rolling her off the back of the bench. Matilda their way as Svan made a failed attempt to pull herself from the floor. Meanwhile, Mioko didn’t acknowledge Svan’s misfortune, simply clamping her hands between her knees and biting her bottom lip while her diaphragm spasmed—apparently causing a great deal of pain considering how much she was crying.