The three surrounding Ley organized their approach. Thorin blocked one direction while the owl of many blades and a grunt took the other. “At the same time,” the leader commanded. Then he beckoned his machina. “Termination: Sleepwalk.”

Ley’s eyes darted as he watched Thorin’s blade extend into a snakelike razored whip with its own mind. It zigzagged through the air toward him. He dodged it, handspringing erratically off the stone ground into an explosive dropkick aimed at the grunt attacking from behind.

For the first time in the bloodbath, Ley found himself with enough space to try an escape. His knees buckled though. Legs giving out, he found himself sitting, blood pooling underneath him. The moment of weakness multiplied. It became cold, eternal reality. “Major! I need to make it home! Where’d that guy go!? Kafka!?”

The Elk’s voice reverberated in his head without emotion. Your body is too weak, and you are too inexperienced. I gave you a chance.

Thorin’s whip blade seized the opportunity, wrapping itself around Ley’s blade hand. The jagged, serrated sections ripped Major from him. With contact broken between the two, the dagger reverted to its original form. Ugly. Dated. Dull.

Thorin retracted his blade to its original form and sheathed it. He took a moment to catch his breath. Ley heard heavy footsteps stop right behind him. Bruised and bloody, gasping for air, one thing crossed his mind as Thorin nodded seriously to the owl of many blades.

“Sasha,” Ley mumbled.

Blood dyed the stone walls rose. A head rolled over, sending a tired gaze out from the shadows of the alley.

Thorin collected Major, stuffing the now stained dagger into his satchel. “Made this worse than it had to be, kid.” He kicked blood from his boot. “Shit, these are new!”

He looked over at the last standing fellow owl who took the time to return his several lost blades. Daggers went into his boots, longswords onto his back, machetes at the hip, throwing knives hidden under the sleeve. “Jericho, he got any kin you know about?”

Jericho touched his broken nose now curving slightly off centered. “Nobody’s ever hurt me. Kid sure was entertaining. About pulled my machina. Did you not hear what he said? Sasha must be a loved one.”

“Sasha, aye? Then she’ll pay the rest of their debt, and don’t forget these damages.” Thorin showed his stained boot.

“That machina should come first. Perhaps she can unlock it. I doubt it will see us worthy, but the loved one maybe.”

***

Sasha’s shift ended at Troll’s Treasure hours ago, but Ley never came to pick her up. Hiding her anxiety from Randle who looked unusually distant and drunk, she returned her cap and apron. “It looks like I’ll be going now then. Thank you again for letting me work here.”

“I’m the one that should be thanking you for lending a hand. Nobody here is honest. Nobody wants to work anymore.” He reached deep into his pocket. “Consider it a bonus.”

He dropped about a dozen bronze regalia into her palm. The gesture left her astonished. She lit up with an earnest smile. “Ley will be stoked! I’ll pick something tasty up for him tomorrow.” Her brightness faded but gratitude lingered. “I think he’s been starving himself.”

Randle avoided looking Sasha in the eyes. Something came to his mind. “Oh, I forgot this.”

He treaded over into the backrooms of the shop where he lived. She heard his voice through the wooden walls as he rustled around through his belongings. “I know for sure Ley’s armed you with something. Can’t leave a young lady defenseless, after all, but I can do better.”

He presented a steel knife along with its leather scabbard. It was clean and sharpened. Sasha slid a weathered hazard of a shiv from her pocket and compared the two. “Thank you. This kinda feels like how I always imagined a birthday being. Well, Ley threw me one once. He gave me these emerald earrings. Still not sure when my real birthday is though.”

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She moved her hair aside to show them off before giving him a polite farewell bow. With a complicated look, Randle waved her off into the darkness. He hesitated to head back inside, instead watching Sasha’s back until she left his sight.

On her trip through Low Monestate’s nightfall-haunted streets, paranoia shook her nerves. Every crow’s cry, mysterious scurrying, and distant chatter sent jolts through her muscles.

Homeless folk propped up under bridges and overhangs, huddling around fires. They minded their own business, leaving Sasha alone, other than the reoccurring stare.

She avoided the darkest alleys and distant night screaming, a single thought echoing in her mind over and over.

Where are you? Where are you, Ley?

Her shed’s door creaked open to nothingness. Curled up in the blanket she shared, on the dingy bed she split, she clenched her eyes shut with her new steel dagger held tightly. Stagnant time flowed away with her consciousness.

Just when Sasha had drifted off though, knocking at the door startled her awake. She bolted up to her knees and, with a jumbled mind, called out. “Ley?”

The knocking continued, much louder and erratic. Its pattern abandoned what Sasha confused to be their secret code. A horridly unhinged voice rambled. “Anybody in there? Hey! Open the door! Open it! Got any money? Any goblin dust?”

The commotion intensified into violent banging and shaking. The entirety of the shack riveted and groaned around Sasha as she trembled wide-eyed on her knees, dagger in hand. Those chains binding the door shut sure made Ley and her feel safe in the past, but they were also never tested.

Once the fiend’s harassment halted, Sasha found herself left in a bleak silence only broken by cricket chirping and the heartbeat bouncing between her shoulders. She listened to the stranger wander away through the grass and bushes before stopping not too far away.

His voice confronted another. “Where are you from? Got any dust? Regalia? Back up now—” A short struggle ensued. It ended with a yelp akin to a dog’s whine.

The scrape of heavy dragging against stone unsettled Sasha’s ears. It crept toward the shed, ending in the bushes outside the door.

Sasha curled up, embracing herself under the blanket. Nobody would have been able to sleep after that. Somehow though, exhaustion took its toll, and she snapped alert to the sun’s rays attacking her face through a hole in the wall.

With bags under her eyes, she reflected on the night before. The touch of wetness in her blanket brought a grave, disgusted look onto her face. Sasha didn’t have many outfits. Neither did Ley.

She looked around to confirm his absence once more before changing clothes. Every morning, her brother took the first steps of the day. Without fail, she followed whatever plan or whim occupied his mind. But now without his guidance, she would have to lead herself.

Before tackling the day, Sasha sat and composed herself with eyes closed, arms wrapped around her knees. What am I… exactly going to do with myself?

She left the shed, knife at her hip, and stepped on a mangled corpse. With tunnel vision and her heart thumping in her ear, Sasha stiffly observed what could have only been the fiend from last night. His deflated torso had uncountable carvings and slices almost surgical. He was butchered into a sack of skin.

Once Sasha’s gaze met his expression twisted in horror, her panic spiraled out of control. Even his eyes were stolen. With a tightly clenched hand on her chest and tears building up, she stumbled away toward Troll’s Treasure.

Down the street, Old Man Randle dealt with the decade’s busiest day. So busy that it almost made him suspicious. He dealt with, hustled, and watched over a steady flow of customers.

Leaned up against the front counter with arms crossed, Randle sold a dusty old iron war axe to a stranger he assumed to be foreign. “Yea, I know this looks mundane, but it’s a relic belonging to Sir Afflictus Bigdicus of The Westwinds. The best I can do for it is three silver.”

“Three silver? That seems like a bit much.”

“Ya know, the guy who dug it up from its resting spot said it spoke to him. Three’s a bargain for a slumberin’ machina if you ask me. I’d understand somebody like you worryin’ about not being worthy though. Machina don’t choose nobodies, after all.”

The customer covered in strange purple dyed leather scoffed. “You’ve got no business measuring my worth. I’ll prove you wrong. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“See, I knew you were a wise one. You’ll go places.”

Randle chuckled only for his headache to flare up. It’s hard to sham fools hung over. Ley, you bastard… You just had to leave me wanting to forget.

You’re slick, right? The girl’s waiting.

His shop’s front door swung open, revealing Sasha drowning in despair with labored gasping. Even the customers fascinated by the oddities around the shop were drawn to her.

Randle looked at her nervously. “What’s up with you, kid?”

Sasha trudged up to him and struggled to get words out. She stuttered hics, wiping tears and snot from her face. Her limit neared. Randle held his hands up in the air before hesitantly resting them on her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Give me a minute.”

With even greater reluctance, Old Man Randle cleared his throat to gather the attention of the group loitering in his shop. “Sorry, but we’re closing for now. Leave. It’s an emergency.” He flicked his hands at them like shooing vermin.