“Well?” Nevin asked tentatively for the third time, his patience with Aurnia's unflinching look of intense focus wearing thin. She stood at his side, leaning over the table with her chin in her hand as she tried to wrap her mind around the strange weapon's equally peculiar construction. She hadn't moved in nearly ten minutes, mumbling incoherently under her breath and ignoring him the entire time.

Inhaling sharply, she straightened. “What was it you called it again? The sword?”

“The Sharasil.”

“Interesting. How did you come up with that?”

Nevin squirmed, twisting out an awkward shrug. “I didn't...come up with it. That's its name. I don't know how I know, and I don't know when I learned it, but I'm sure that's what it's called. It just sort of came to me in a conversation, like I'd known it the whole time and it was weird that no one else did.”

She tapped a finger to her lower lip. “Hmm. Likely a side-effect of the bond. An instinctual transference of necessary information. Honestly, that makes more sense that you coming up with it on your own. 'Sharasil' is a constructed word in the dead Ilwarin tongue. It's two words, in point of fact. The first part, 'Shara', is an uncommon word in the language, one that doesn't show up but a handful of times across the breadth of Ilwarin texts and carvings documented by historians. It was adopted by early magic users as way to reference the spiritual energy generated by and directed during incantation.

“'Shara' means soul or spirit or energy, usually depending on the context. Unfortunately, without more than a name to go on, it could be any one of the three. 'Sil', though, is an interesting one. See, Ilwarin has these bilateral suffixes that it uses to denote opposites. The suffixes are always three letters long - two consonants framing a single vowel. The suffix is written in one direction when indicating one side of the spectrum, and the other direction when indicating its opposite.”

“So, 'Sharasil' and...'Sharalis'?”

Cringing, she twisted her mouth. “Not quite. The rules get murky in a few places. It would actually be 'Sharlis', but don't ask me to explain why. My understanding of Ilwarin might be above average, but considering there are practically zero living experts on the language, average might not be saying much.”

Ishen had possessed a number of different artifacts decorated with Ilwarin script, but the details of the language had only rarely come up during their lessons. He really hoped he wouldn't need to become an expert in a dead language in order to be free of the sword, but he was willing to try.

“Okay, so what does 'sil' mean in this instance?”

She continued fiddling with her bottom lip, playing it with her fingertip like the string of a lute. “Well, 'Sharlis' is used to indicate a glut of spiritual energy, so in that case, 'lis' might mean 'abundance' or 'full'. If we flip it, 'sil' likely means something along the lines of...'empty' or 'scarcity', maybe? I can't be sure. It's not a configuration I've run into, nor would it be one I would have ever thought to put together. It's a terrible name for a magic sword, though.”

“How so?”

“One feature of a magical objects is either a reserve of magical energy, or a soul channel of their own. An apt translation of Sharasil? 'Soulless'? 'Dead'? 'Inert'? Seems like the exact opposite of what you expect to find.”

She started to lean forward, but thought better of it. “A little off topic, but...when it reacted to Theis, when it nearly took off his arm as you put it, he was approaching it?”

He scratched his head. “It happened really fast, but that sounds right.”

“He was going to take it? Pick it up?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips. “Intent.”

“Intent?” There's that word again. Back at the gorge, Theis had mentioned something about magical objects reacting to intent. He still didn't quite understand it, but hearing Aurnia say it now made him wish he'd asked more questions.

“I hope so,” she said, taking a deep breath in and slowly releasing it over a number of seconds. “Or this is really going to hurt.”

“Why would it-”

Without hesitation, Aurnia stepped forward and reached out for the Sharasil.

Surprised as he was by her choice of action, Nevin barely had the time to raise his eyebrows in alarm before the unprotected flesh of her palm slapped down on smooth metal.

Nothing happened.

No red light. No high-pitched squeal. No blinding flash of energy. Aurnia closed her eyes and sighed with relief. She retracted her hand, flexing away the thin coating of frost that had rapidly formed on her skin. The spot on the sword where her hand had been glistened like diamonds in the firelight.

She grimaced. “By the Numbra, that's cold.”

Nevin covered his mouth with his hands. “Are you nuts, lady? You could have-”

“Lost an arm, yes. You've mentioned that. Still...” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned over the table to get a closer look. “Sometimes one must engage in a calculated risk in order to make progress. I've been mulling your story over, and something in the details was bothering me. At the gorge, you told me you nearly fell when the tree you were crossing became unstable.

“I initially didn't think much of it, but it nagged at me. You say the sword reacts negatively whenever someone other than you comes near it. If we assume that's true-”

“It is true.”

She waved him off. “If you kept it strapped across the top of your satchel, why then did it not activate when Theis leapt onto the tree and carried you across?”

Nevin opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She had a really good point. “I don't know. That didn't even occur to me.”

“Even if he tossed you over his shoulder, the blade had to have been no more than a few inches away from the back of his head, and I doubt he would have even been able to grab you without inadvertently brushing against it at some point. So why didn't it react?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He was amazed at just how much Aurnia reminded him of Ishen. “I'm guessing it has something to do with intent?”

A smug smile broached her lips. “I think the sword can read not just its wielder's intentions, but anyone within a certain range. I think it listens for certain queues and reacts based on some sort of internal directive. Just wanting to touch it isn't enough. I suspect only attempting to interact with the sole purpose of moving or wielding will activate its latent defense mechanisms. It makes sense, otherwise the whole system would react each time you struck an opponent, a situation that would likely be just as dangerous for the wielder as it would be for the target.

“Of course, that means if someone knocks you out while the sword is strapped to your back, they might just be able to carry you off and take the sword that way.” Her smile faded. “Then again, the sword might be smart enough to read THAT intention and literally decide to blow up in their face.”

Nevin took a small step back. If the sword really could read minds, he didn't want to be anywhere near it in case Aurnia accidentally thought the wrong thing.

Aurnia placed her hands on the edge of the table, and with a soft grunt, slid it closer to the wall. She stepped back into extra space and appraised the sword from a distance, occasionally checking on Nevin from the corner of her eye.

Donald shifted in his spot on the couch. His head listed to the side, and a rolling snore ripped through the quiet room. In his nervous state, the unpleasant sound startled Nevin. With an audible scoff, he shot the tall man a dirty look.

“Problem?” Aurnia said, following his gaze to the sleeping giant.

“It's nothing.” He crossed his arms.

“Oh, yes, it seems like nothing.”

Nevin could almost feel Dalen's canteen banging against his leg. “He's drunk.”

“If he was aiming for sober, I imagine he would have stuck with tea.”

“This is funny to you?”

Aurnia's perplexed look caught him off-guard. It was almost like she didn't understand the problem. “You don't approve. The man took you in, gave you his clothes, fed you, and you take issue with his means of relaxation?”

Nevin fumed in silence. He didn't owe this stranger any sort of explanation. Truth was, he didn't owe her anything, not yet at least. Not until he'd gotten some real answers. Answers beyond a cursory examination of a dead language.

When he didn't respond, she turned her attention back to the sword. “One of alcohol's greatest gifts lies in its tendency to temporarily suppress the brain's ability to dwell. Regrets, embarrassments, lost loved ones...for those in pain, numbness is often a preferable alternative. It's not as effective as mastering one's emotions, of course, but not everyone possesses a will powerful enough to eliminate their feelings in their entirety.”

A slight frown of distaste cracked her cool composure. “Nor do most want to.”

He looked back at Donald. The bald man had folded his hands protectively across the lump hidden beneath his nightshirt. “It's his wife, isn't it. The reason he wants to be numb. He misses her.”

Aurnia nodded, and he tightened his grip on his chest.

“I know what alcohol does to people who lose the ones they care about most,” he said.

Eager to change the subject, he extended a finger, pointing to the oval indentation near the center point of the sword. A number of angular channels struck out from that odd structure, each one terminating on the object's southern edge. “This is an odd feature. And these channels? What do you suppose they're for?”

She frowned in concentration. “I'm not sure, but I doubt it's purely decorative. A focal point, of some sort? Might hold the power source, and it could use these lines to transmit spiritual energy throughout the blade. Then again, the lines may just be the seams that retract to reveal the true form underneath. Could be this entire metal shell is just a housing for the real weapon. A sheath, if you will. But...until we can activate it, I can really only guess.”

Nevin tossed his hands up. “So you've got nothing. Great. That's really great. What can you tell me?”

“This isn't something I'd planned for, Nevin. I had expected Theis to return with naught but the weapon I sent him after, but instead he arrives saddled with two unintended stowaways whose Fates are more frustratingly intertwined with that of the blade than I can hope to unravel from here. A magical problem requires a magical solution, and Comelbough provides neither the resources nor the safety necessary to even begin to attack the problem. Even a superficial examination of the object would require manifesting a good amount of spiritual energy, an act that would be sure to attract the magic-hungry creatures currently prowling about in the fog.”

Magic-hungry creatures? He looked toward the door apprehensively. This was the first he was hearing of it.

Aurnia tapped her lip. “If I could just get a glimpse...Nevin, will you do me a favor and pick up the sword? I'd like to try something.”

Without taking his eyes off the door, Nevin nodded. He reached out and grabbed the coarse stone handle and dragged it close without lifting it clear of the table's worn surface. It made zero sound as it glided across the wood.

“Good,” she said, sliding over to his side. Her hand gently came to rest on his bare forearm. The soft touch made him immediately uncomfortable. He looked down at it and tried to pull away, but she wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “It's okay. This is a very simple thing. I'm going to try to help you, but I need your trust and cooperation if this is going to work, alright?”

Nevin searched her flawless face, but it gave up nothing. Reluctantly, he nodded again. “If you think it might help.”

“It will,” she said, tilting her chin up and staring deep into his eyes. He couldn't help but stare back, lost in the rich, honey-brown rings surrounding her depthless pupils. An electric tingle climbed his arm as her fingers kneaded his wrist. He felt his breath quicken.

“Now. You told me the sword reacted during your fight in the clearing. Tell me again, briefly, what you were experiencing in that moment.”

He didn't understand how going over it again was going to help, but he didn't figure it would hurt. “Well, two soldiers had just broken off from the group and were coming toward us.”

“Us?”

“Me and Aidux. The one with the ax attacked, and we both dove out of the way. Aidux fought back, wounding the ax-wielding soldier before charging the other. They wrestled each other for a moment and-”

“The two soldiers were threatening your life. Before now, nothing really dangerous had happened, but as they approached, it suddenly became very real.”

His eyebrows reached for each other. “Yes, I mean, I was definitely afraid. I didn't know how to fight and I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want Aidux to get hurt, either.”

Aurnia was nodding along to his speech, and as her head bobbed up and down, so to did his own. Her pupils shrank and grew in time with her breath, and Nevin found himself matching each inhalation and exhalation.

“What a terrifying ordeal. You had nowhere to go, no idea what to do, and little hope of survival.” The warm tingling sensation crawled up his arm, spreading through his bicep and mounting his shoulder.

In the shadows of his subconscious, a tiny voice cried out to him, but as he stared ever deeper into the woman's enchanting eyes, its call went unheeded.

“Was that what it was like, Nevin? Can you remember the details for me? Think hard, remember how it felt to hold the sword in your hands, to feel the fear rushing through your veins, your damp clothes clinging to your skin, the cold wind whipping through the clearing...”

He could hear it. The stillness cut down by a chill wind, tearing through the open clearing to sap the warmth from his bones. He shivered, the edge of the sword bouncing soundlessly against the surface of the table.

She took a step closer, trailing her fingers up the skin of his arm. The tingle crawled up his neck, past his hairline. It finally enveloped his entire head, growing in strength until the sensation shook his vision into a disconcerting blur of light and color.

Aurnia leaned in, her words melting directly to his brain. “Go there, Nevin. Find that fear. Find that hopelessness. Step into it.”

His eyes fluttered closed as the uncomfortable feeling washed over his entire body.

When he opened them again, a flash of white light erased the quiet common room and replaced it with a cold, grassy clearing.