The peacekeepers found the camp and company of Anisa, eldest daughter of the Nephet line, broken and with bodies about. They came upon them a full day of hard riding out towards the southern lands. Razed tents and blood set a terrible contrast to the peaceful pond they had made the resting grounds turned funeral grounds. Of all the bodies, however, a handful had absent. Anise, her maid, and the two guards she had taken with her south all seemed to be missing.

In the week that followed this news, the most hellish time Isabel had ever experienced, trauma and worried health monitering servants and Bordigan alike giving her a touch too much attention towards her current state of affairs. It was exausting, though sweet, and delayed what she felt recovery was meant for. Healing.

Floria came around at least once a day and put a hand to her that sent coursing waves through her and restored the smoke damage that had bothered her since. It also tickled like crazy and not in a good way. It felt like she was occasionally swallowing ants, not a feeling she thought she would ever need to describe to herself or another. After the fouth such session, it with feeling almost brand new, Isabel couldn’t help but wonder and ask some questions.

“What is it that you are doing?”

“I am assisting your throat with a form of mana technique that mimics what some plants can do. Have I never shown you my capacity to for the arts before?”

“You mentioned plants being your specialty, not what you can do with them. It seems quite handy. Though it never explained your nickname either.”

“’The Last Sword’? I’m quite certain you have never heard my other nicknames, at least not in noble circles.”

Isabel nodded her head, though was admittedly left wondering with regards to the others.

“I hate to admit there is not unique story, it comes from only drawing my sword when I must. ‘Mine will be the last sword drawn, in the name of our protection and as another’s shield.’” Floria spoke as if quoting a text for the thousandth time.

“Is that from that book you often speak of? The.. amrata?

“Arimata, and no. That is a vow spoken by every mage knight of the kingdom before the ruler and is where I get both my name and duty. There are actually about a hundred last swords through the entire kingdom. One in every major city and region, plus the unworked lands.”

Isabel left the rest of the healing session quiet and soon found herself without company again. The door had been left open, as it had every time someone had come in to occupy her time and make small talk while bringing her one thing or another. It was nice yet an action that served to remind her all the more of the people she wished were there. She also held the awareness that they wouldn’t leave her be for longer than an hour or two at a time, not unless she was resting and even then would. To her, they seemed afraid.

It was exhausting in rights that Isabel had never felt removed from her before. Powerlessness and emptiness seemed her most consistant companions and drew her further still into depression with the thoughts of who had taken Anise and what they wanted. Isabel thought she knew what that was as well. The artifacts.

To Isabel, it was the only thing that made sense at that point. The assassins had clearly cared more to distract and steal than make sure every soul was dead. Why take her sister, if not in the attempt to garner the information on the location of the most powerful objects in half the known world. The only flaw was how they knew at all. Their existance itself was the most heavily guarded secret in perhaps the entirety of the kingdom.

Knowing it was of little help to stress and actually letting go of such thoughts proved impossible to her. Nights were spent thinking about as many details as she could recall, the manic need to figure out as much as possible pushing to the forefront of her mind at every moment. Panic setting in every morning when she awoke to find the ceiling, the floors, the sounds, all of her new home so unfamiliar that the adjustment brought her back to reality over her fraught sleep.

She hid it as well as she could and felt some manner of success when they started letting her have the door closed. The attempt at cutting her wrists had not been as easy to hide, especially not when she cried out at the pain and the servant who happened to be passing by the closed door rushed in. Floria had been less than happy with the event and had the door removed completely. The healing she gave was nearly the same, though the scars remained behind.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“If I ever, EVER catch you doing something so dumb and insane as that again I will tie you down with roots and vines till you are gray and I am long dead!”

Isabel had mutely nodded at that, as she continued to do for another five days after that. Her silence continued even when the peacekeepers came to take further statements. Every question was met with the most minimal amount of words and the occasional nods or shakes of her head. It was clear to even Isabel that they suspected her involvement somehow and her hope of finding her sister was further now than it had been when she first left the tower.

On the sixth day, something changed entirely within her. Isabel had been studying the lines now marking her wrists, slices awkwardly placed down her forearms before the shocking pain had set in and she had dropped the knife. It had been the first time she had ever seen so much of her blood and the first time a weapon in her hands had found a purpose beyond cuttlery. Her hate and pain marked to the world as reminders. It was in that she found an idea.

‘Make them bleed, scared, scarred, and die’

It was like a voice made manifest by her emotions ringing out of her soul that only sang to her. Transfixing her with the promise of vengance. The idea of finding them herself and giving them wounds and marks far worse than these. How and when remained as the only to factors she couldn’t yet figure out. Floria’s healing gave her a grand idea though.

“Floria…” Isabel started when next the woman came to visit her. Catching the odd and questioning tone, Floria looked at the young devastated woman whose eyes held a touch of manic emotion.

“Can you teach me what it is you do? With the mana and whatnot.”

Floria stared at her long enough for Isabel to feel she had done the woman a great disservice before she responded.

“I can not, actually. At least not readily and not without knowing what your lens and light are like.”

“My what?”

Floria sat in a chair to the side before responding, taking the time to remove her glasses and rub her temples.

“The first two steps to all of mana and mana techniques, at least as I know, is in first understanding two things. What aura of light you are predominantly attached to and what mental process you use to view the world. This is known by many as your lens and light.”

Isabel felt interested for the first time in almost two weeks. It was refreshing.

“How do you know what those are?”

“Well, the process is dependant on the individual. I, for example, have a green aura connection primarily and what is called a matter matrix lens. I see the world in values of density, materials, and space. The combination of the two and my knowledge of plants allows me to draw on my aura to create or modify them.”

“I…,” Isabel looked at Floria with confusion clouding her eyes, “do not quiet understand. So how is it you know what these are?”

“To test for aura, one must first be aware of the mana field and our connection to it. Most meditate to become aware of the feel of it and it can take years. There are devices as well, though the price of them is often too much to truly be reliable. Your lens is easier, though to understand it better meditation is used as well. The first question is ‘How do you see you and how does that you see the world for what it is’, for a start.”

The question joined the rotation of others that kept Isabel awake, proving to be as easily answered just the same. How she saw the world? That had changed and that change was so fresh that it almost felt a wound of its own. She had seen the world as a place to be and not some entity that she had not had much in the way of a relationship. It had been safe, balanced, and mostly kind. It had also been calm in ways she had not known until they had been lost to her.

Her new state of being felt differently. Looking out the window was no longer a joy nor brought a sense of want to do anything with the world it showed. Safety had been stripped away and the net separating her and crashing painfully from her from gruesome pain was gone entirely. People seemed more distant and yet, when they were present, more suffocating than ever with even the most marginal of attentions. It could have driven her mad. It probably did.

Still she pushed herself to do the meditations daily.

If she could have even a miniscule amount of what Floria had, she might be able to get what she craved with every waking moment not spent in detached and miserable contemplation and understanding. The voiceless voice that called for her to attain it throbbed at her wrists and pushed her into further meditations. Floria checked on her daily still, no longer to heal but simply keep the two heartbroken souls they shared soothed by the comforts of mutual pain.

Two weeks turned to two months faster than felt and news of her sister or the captors had been as absent as snow during a summer heat. Dejection fueled her now. Hate fueled her. Nothing could stop her from learning or trying during the time. Not until a late afternoon where the peacekeepers arrived with an entire five in number. They had a warrant for the arrest of Isabel Zuelis Nephet, in connection to the murder, abduction, and theft from her family and home.