The Edge of Memory - Aikura

[Aikura]

-The Edge of Memory-

This is not an autobiography. No one living is qualified to recount my tale, least of all me. This is merely an attempt to ascribe words to the images in my head. For the consequences my actions have already had, and for those yet to come, the answers may lie here. The events of my life are huddled together at the edge of memory; a modest concert silhouetted against a vast plane of emptiness. This is my only desperate grasp to retrieve them before they slip silently over the edge and are forever lost to oblivion.

Somewhere from the dark recesses of my past, echoes a riddle, my first and only nursery rhyme, if you will. It is so near to my thoughts but—like something half-dreamed—I cannot trace its origin. Cast by light but in darkness mired; ever possessed, never desired; ever following, never tired. It is dressed in a tune that is both sweet and melancholy. I hear it every time that silence strikes. I see the words when I close my eyes. I feel it imbued with meaning that eludes my conscious thought. The answer, of course, is shadow. The answer is me.

To live in shadow is to scarcely live at all. I know everyone, yet I am unknown. I might look into someone’s eyes, yet they will look right through me. Many will fall to my blades, yet few will notice when I die. It is scarcely a life at all. But it is the only life I know.

They named me Aikura. Love of Shadow. How unfair.

[Luna]

* pokes in and gives 1,000,000 xp for the youtube videos *

[Aikura]

-The First Moment-

When I first came to the Coast, still blindly stumbling like a newborn, I met a fiery haired rogue named Red. Delighting in my profound ignorance, she sarcastically remarked: “Were you raised in a cave by wolves?” Such apt words. I could only answer yes.

I had no family or home village. For me, there was only the Order. It is strange how little I remember. I do not remember who they were, how they talked, what they wore. I remember that the training was harsh. I remember shadows and whispers but, more than anything, I remember a feeling. One of absolute disempowerment. It is one thing to become a slave, but to be raised as one, this is total indoctrination. Complete servitude. Absolute hegemony.

I remember the moment this changed. I do not know how I came to resist, how I happened upon so alien a concept as freedom. But I know it was the first moment of what I now call my life.

In retrospect it seems like destiny. He was a target like any other. I do not recall a thing about him. I only recall that, for whatever reason, by whatever conjured will, my blades stopped short of their mark. I did something I had previously thought impossible. I spared my target, and from that moment on I was free. It was like breathing for the first time.

My first act with this newfound power was to return to the Order to say my goodbyes. Loudly and violently. Like with so much else, the details of my victims are a blur, their names and faces redacted. I do not remember how many, if they put up much of a fight, if they even had any warning. I only remember the sanguine river I left in my wake.

When I emerged out into the light, I swore to myself that I would never again serve any agenda but my own. Some habits though, are hard to break.

[Aikura]

-Ominous Cold-

Normalcy is a most abnormal thing to try and learn. But I was coping. I met people, and I learned how to blend in without always relying on the shadows. I had tried to leave the Order completely and forget everything I had been taught. In some ways I was successful; there are techniques I once possessed that I can never again reclaim, even if I wanted to. For the most part though, I found that those skills were as much a part of me as the muscles they exploited. My armour and blades too, I could not be without. These legacies of the Order helped me to survive but also made me a target. There would always be those who coveted my skills.

I travelled a great deal and eventually came to Baldur’s Gate. I have no idea why. I suppose all roads lead to the regional hub of trade and commerce, so I guess it makes sense that that is where I ended up. It was here one day, along the Trade Way, that my past and future intersected.

I felt her before I saw her. A feeling of ominous cold that crept across my skin. Others on the road were completely oblivious, but the Order’s training served me well. My hands instinctively found my blades, and I entered that familiar state of readiness that usually preceded a great deal of killing. I saw her appear, dark energy rippling around her as though she was tearing her way through from the Shadow Plane. She was so fast. Almost before I heard her utter the words, I felt the spell wash over me. My state of alertness faded, my muscles relaxed, my grip on consciousness began to fade. It is all rather hazy after that. I remember her words in my head. An unfamiliar language, harsh and evil. All the same, somehow, I knew what she said:

We are watching you.

When I came to, witnesses explained that the shadowy figure had simply vanished almost as soon as I had hit the ground. But in that moment I knew, as she did, that I would be theirs. Some habits are hard to break.

[Aikura]

-Beautiful Compatriot-

Of the eclectic images that form my recollection of my life, one in particular stands out as a bright punctuation in an otherwise dark slideshow. It was the day I met my sister. My kindred spirit. My young and beautiful compatriot of the night. Perhaps the only person I have ever truly loved.

I remember meeting her in the dark of a cave, our blades unwittingly crossing through the bandit that stood between us. As he fell to the ground, we stood there regarding each other with mutual suspicion. It was not an instant connection we had. Among our similarities was our burning desire for independence, and at first we regarded each other with annoyance. Very soon though, this annoyance relaxed to bemused tolerance. From tolerance emerged cooperation, coalescence, friendship, kinship. It must have been beautiful to watch our skills develop. We traversed the Coast, looting every hole we cared to climb down, surprising fools who had the pretence to compete with us and mocking those who had the sense to show deference. We cut our way through the armour and flesh of hordes of enemies; the more we dulled our blades, the more we sharpened our skills. We learned to strike with perfect coordination. We grew close. We became sisters.

From that stalemated moment in the bandit cave, she somehow became a dominant figure in my life. I am not sure what else I can say about her, except perhaps this: Of the eclectic images that form my recollection of my life, most of them are of her.

[Aikura]

-We are Watching You-

In the dead quiet of the mine, I waited. The only sound to disturb the still air was the occasional clumsy footfall or idle grunt from the bugbear, milling about a few feet from my sanctuary of shadows. His breath, rough and arrhythmic, seemed to crystallise and become visible in the dusty air. Thoroughly unaware, he meandered slowly along the narrow mineshaft, his dragging axe carving a lazy, winding path through the loose sediment. The bugbear’s shriek cut the silence as my blades found their mark, its blood spatter painting darker pictures even against the already-shadowed walls. As his lifeless corpse fell at my feet, the other two looked upon their fallen comrade and then up to me, blades dripping, cloak billowing, eyes burning. There would be no courtesies given here. I leapt in and out of the shadows, and two more corpses lay at my feet. The dark pool edged outwards, enveloping my boots. I lowered my blades and relaxed my guard.

The horrible laugh came from behind me; a devilish, mocking giggle. She stepped out of the shadows, a female halfling masked and dressed in black fatigues, kris-like daggers in hands. “Not bad.” She said. “Could use some work.” Tensing once more, I straightened up and turned fully to face her, ready for a fight. But she was gone. By now accustomed to this sort of thing happening around me, I continued my rampage through the mine. It could well have been my imagination, but my ears intermittently caught the end of a snicker in the shadows.

When I emerged alive from the mine, she was there. Standing in the open, triumphant, arrogant. It is a curious paradox for one so short to hold her head so high. By now my charitable mood was thoroughly spoiled. “Why do you follow me, little one?” I snapped at her. “Because, you have already been picked.” She replied tauntingly. “Very soon, you will be tested. Train and hone your skills. We are watching you.” And with that, she vanished once more.

We are watching you.

Those words again. First the woman who spoke the devilish tongue, now the halfling with the devilish laugh. Eyes watch, whispers float, and dark figures creep around. My shadowy antagonists are gaining on me, but they are wrong if they think I will play their game.

[Aikura]

-Lost Moments in Time-

Brilliant vermillion flashes split the night. For hours at a time, the rain of fire did not let up. It seemed as if the stars lost their tenuous grip on the heavens and smashed down upon the Temple of Bhaal. Thunder echoed across the Trade Way as stone struck stone, and with every blow erupted an accompanying lightshow of dazzling colour, haunting beauty. Rooftops burned and walls crumbled, demons shrieked, warriors cheered and sang. The raging bonfires of the encamped besiegers warmed the night, their singing fuelled by equal parts triumphant euphoria and contraband alcohol. There would be a counter barrage, and more raids, and people would die. But for now, we felt invincible beneath the umbrella of suppressive fire laid down by the Triad catapults.

The stricken Temple jutted menacingly out of the acropolis, illuminated by the fiery glow of its own wounds. The crumbled, ruined stonework bestowed upon it a jagged veneer, like that of some chaotic sculpture of shattered teeth. Exaggerated shadows danced erratically in the light of the unattended flames.

Across the Way stood our palisade wall; defiant and sturdy, if a little underwhelming. The mood on the wall was surprisingly relaxed, the mood in the camp behind was jubilant and inebriated. These were the golden moments. People reflected on the events of that day; long periods of boredom and monotonous watches, sharply punctuated by bloody skirmishes and bombardments. In the morning it would begin again, but for now the festivities could not be dampened. Fresh cheers swept though the camp with every night-defeating flash offered up by the catapults’ hellish payloads.

We had been encamped there for some weeks. Never have I witnessed such an odd gathering; warriors and adventurers from all walks of life, gathered here for reasons all their own. To be sure, many were invested in the cause. They came to support the Churches of the Triad, for duty and honour, for their deities and their friends, to quell the sinister encroachments by the Lord of Murder. These were unlikely the majority however. Most gathered there were either mercenaries of the Flaming Fist, or adventurers whose fear of death in battle was easily outweighed by their fear of missing an epochal event. Some of those now gathered were enemies in other circumstances, and yet they were united here, facing a common foe, sharing the wine they had smuggled in. I had justified my presence there under the pretext that it would be fun to watch one cult slaughter another. But if I am to be honest with myself, I was there with a most unexpected ulterior motive.

I had met him outside Candlekeep, on the eve of the siege. What attracted me to him remains a mystery, to us both I suspect. He was foolish and immature, an otherwise unremarkable half-elf. He seemed to know this, and to not care. Perhaps it was the lightness of his demeanour, or the way he absorbed my sarcastic remarks, laughing them off without effort. Whatever it was, I was made pathetic—and alive—by his company.

Now he stood beside me on the wall as we watched the fireworks. I looked across the Way at the flashes of destruction shaking the Temple’s foundations, and then to the crimson rain streaking the night sky above. “Battle can indeed be beautiful.” I remarked. In that moment he looked at me, the bright images of flames reflecting in my eyes, and my eyes reflecting in his. He looked right into me and said: “You’ve got that right.” Breathtaking. Crazy. Sublime.

For some, the siege ended in tragedy. Victory over the Lord of Murder was never going to be anything more than bitter-sweet. But for many others, it marked the end of an era, a formative period of their lives, an adventure like no other.

For me though, it was just a backdrop; a setting for lost moments in time that I can never recapture.

[Aikura]

-The Dream-

Every night, it starts the same. I am standing alone in the cold of the cave, tortured by an icy wind inexplicably emanating from some unknown source. Even against the light-dampening dull of my armour, the sanguine stain is visible. My blades and exposed skin are painted red with spatter and gore. The corpses lie all around, aligned outwards as if they all fell away from me in a neat spiral. I stand in the centre of the bloody vortex, exhausted and struggling for air. All of them lay face-down. I cannot see who they are. I only know that I killed them. With every gasp, the freezing air shoots into my lungs and burns me from the inside. I feel that I am about to die.

Then, someone lets light into the cave; a narrow spear desperately piercing the dark. From a single hopeful beam, it expands with the creaking door to become a liberating flood. As the light rushes in, the icy wind escapes and dissipates and is replaced by a still, neutral cool. I see her silhouetted in the open doorway, an elegant shadow against the blinding light at her back. She approaches me with calming words. I am here, sister. As she takes my hand it is instantly washed of the blood that had stained it. She leads me out of the cave and into the light. She saves me.

And there it is; as sweet a metaphor as my subconscious can conjure. Night after night, I have the dream. And night after night, she comes through for me.

[Aikura]

-Wait-

I crept along the narrow corridor of shadow that hugged the aged stone wall of the mine. The crumbling ceiling exposed a patchwork constellation of holes and gaps, through which was filtered the pale blue light of the night starscape. I kept my eyes focused on my target even while weaving carefully through the illuminating azure beams that divided the safe and the unsafe. The still silence was sporadically broken by the innocuous gurgles of the goblin ahead of me, and the malevolent patter of little feet in the shadows behind me. I felt my reflexes charge as I took that critical step putting me within striking distance, half a breath exhaling, heartbeat slowing. A sudden metallic flash split first the air and then the goblin. The gurgling halted and the corpse fell with a dull thud beneath my wetted blades. I finished the breath, a steady heartbeat returned. “How was that?” I whispered over my shoulder. “Not bad.” Came the hushed reply. “Getting better.”

Slipping silently back into the shadows I continued along my dark corridor towards the ornamented stone door at the end. As I approached I could hear the ring of battle on the other side, dulled by its transition through the dense rock of the mine interior, but nevertheless distinct, unmistakable. “Wait.” The whisper said. I pressed against the adjacent wall, blending seamlessly with the shadows cast on the uneven stonework. As I became still and focused, I could feel the reverberations of dead weight hitting the floor, and the softest sound of creeping footsteps closing the distance.

Following closely behind the inevitable groaning protests of embedded hinges, the victor emerged cautiously through the doorway. I remember clearly her sparkling tapered chain, the unique curve of her blades, her unblemished, youthful skin, elongated ears, swept black hair, the radiant sapphire pools that were her eyes. All of it so familiar. What cruel fate.

She stood there a moment, surveying the scene, her inquisitive gaze hovering momentarily on the dead goblin that was my handiwork. I saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes; she was looking for me. I became suddenly aware once more of the diminutive shadow at my side. I could feel its curiosity grow, as together we watched my sister move silently back along the corridor. My mind raced. No. But it was much too late. “Follow her.” The whisper instructed. “This one is a friend.” I protested weakly. The reply came with mischievous awareness: “All the better.” What could I do? They knew about her now. I followed her. I had to do something. They could have me. They would not have her as well.

The three of us stalked along, a curious trio of agendas. A shadow shadowing a shadow shadowing a shadow. As we rounded a bend, we were confronted by another goblin, larger and bulkier than the others, and yet dwarfed by its own absurdly proportioned greatsword. This one also seemed more alert, scanning the mine, searching for the authors of its brethren’s bloody demise. I watched my sister’s trajectory glide smoothly into the attack. She was not fast enough. In a surprising acrobatic, the goblin leapt nimbly out of the path of her blades and, raising its capacious sword over his head, brought down its own crushing counterattack. She tried to parry the blow, but the weight behind it was too great and she was knocked violently to the ground. I tensed and readied to rush to her aid. “Wait.” Came the whisper.

Wait? The goblin stepped purposefully toward her, its blade dragging along the stone, emitting a painful, grinding screech. My whole body tensed, muscles contracting, pulse slowing. I gripped my blades tightly, and my vision narrowed to a deadly point, myopically fixated on the immanent kill. I was a coiled spring, ready to fire, to explode with all the fury that was now pent up inside me. Why was I not yet at her side? Wait. The goblin now loomed over her, triumphantly raising its blade, preparing to deliver the coup de grace, savouring the kill to come. In that moment, my lungs seemed to fail me. I felt the panic rising. A crimson glaze enveloped my vision. I was suffocating. What am I doing? I am going to watch my sister die. With only a desperate moment to spare, the word came at last: “Alright, go.”

Before the whisper even fully registered, I fired. I leapt from the shadows with blinding speed, unleashed, a bullet of rage and panic and hate and adrenaline. My shoulder struck the goblin first. I could hear the bones crack and feel its muscles give way under the impact. The force of the blow was such that it was dead even before I could bring my blades to bear. Pinning it to the ground, I slashed again and again, maniacally decorating the walls with its entrails.

In the aftermath, I stood there blood-soaked and panting. The disassembled body of the goblin splayed around me. My sister on the floor, looking at me with wide eyes, a mixture of surprise and fear. The halfling stepping from the shadows, her face twisted in a smug, knowing expression. The confusion on my sister’s face as she looked from the halfling, to the gore on my blades, to me. The burning guilt that welled behind my eyes. I had some explaining to do.

[Aikura]

-Sombre Light-

They gathered at the merchant camp near the bridge into Baldur’s Gate. Although it was the middle of the day, the overcast sky drew a gloomy shadow over the assembled mob, foretelling the grim deed that would soon unite these fools in bloody murder. Priests and paladins and other "goodly" folk, they had been drawn together from the surrounding countryside under the most shallow pretext of justice. In fact it was a perverted mockery of it. Laughable. Tragic. A black day to effect a blacker fate. The anticipation in the air was palpable, laced with bloodlust. The mob jeered like bleating sheep as the condemned was lead, bound and blindfolded, toward the awaiting noose.

Word of the impending execution had spread quickly along the Trade Way. I stood apart from the mob, leaning against one of the merchant caravans, watching from under my hood as the so-called righteous succumbed to barbarism. However they sought to justify it, they were there to revel in his brutal punishment.

One stood out though, if only to me. She was a beacon of sombre light amidst the dark crowd, as if the clouds were willing to part ever so slightly, simply to allow her a lonely spotlight. The brim of her hat was pulled down, her eyes and expression a mystery. She seemed to avoid looking at the condemned as he was dragged up to the tree and the noose placed around his neck. Even from this distance though, I could clearly make out the glistening trails of the tears on her cheeks. One hand rested on the ornate handle of the rapier at her waist, the other gripped the concealed throwing axe at her back.

The mob jeered, the rope was pulled taught, the condemned was raised into the air, the mystery woman’s axe flew. It was a perfect throw, the whistling of the axe pitching slightly above the gasps of the onlookers. It severed the rope, the condemned falling in a heap on the ground. In a flash, she stood between him and the mob, her rapier drawn and ready, a look of resolute defiance in her tear-swollen eyes. It was a desperate act, in an untenable situation. But by the gods, the way she fought. Many Fist soldiers fell to her blade before she was finally subdued. She was dragged off, and the condemned was incinerated.

Why? She stood no chance of saving him. All she had done was condemned herself to share in his fate. Such rash foolishness; to have thrown away her life so pointlessly. Her sacrifice was a symbol only. All the same, it was inspired recklessness. Beautiful folly. How could anyone love like that?

[Aikura]

-Bitter Punchline-

“I know that is not what you wanted to hear.” His words cut me to the core, his voice cracking with guilty emotion. I stood in front of him, apparently unmoved, the embodiment of statuesque indifference. My expression was passive, eyes blank, lips pursed, posture idle, my soul consumed by the suppressed scream. The rest of the conversation was an awkward blur; only the bitter punchline echoed incessantly in my ears. Recently, his words had gradually been sapped of their meaning anyway, half-truths and mixed messages. We stood together on that unremarkable bank, a fitting place for such an unremarkable end, to a chapter of my life that should itself have been as unremarkable as it was brief. But it was not. It should not have affected me so deeply. But it did.

Why did it hurt so? I knew the answer. It was not him so much as it was what I had so foolishly invested in him. I had taken the ultimate risk in falling for him. I had let down my guard just once. I had left myself exposed, and he had dealt me an injury that no one else could have. I was left lachrymose and pathetic, a sorry contrast to the silver and cold bluster that struck fear in my enemies. In that moment, my heart hardened. I knew then that for the things he did, and the order in which he did them, I could never forgive him, no matter how much I might have wanted to. Holding it together, somehow, I found my voice. “You’re right. That is not what I wanted to hear.”

I turned away, a picture of composure. But on that unremarkable bank, I left him, and a part of myself.

[Aikura]

-The Hourglass-

It is strange how destiny can manifest in the mundane. My destiny must be twisted indeed if I can narrow its turning point to the act of ordering rabbit stew at the Burning Wizard. Such a strange confluence of events, beginning with that ominous cold on the Trade Way, and gathering speed as the shadows and whispers gave chase and conspired to draw me into their centre. I am convinced that this moment was unavoidable. The span of fate is an hourglass; at the top there are many paths, many possibilities, gradually narrowing as they approach the middle, and then expanding again after they pass through it. However, irrespective of where they start and where they end up, every grain must pass through that critical nexus. Everything that had happened had lead to this moment, and everything that was to come would transpire because of it. I had felt it coming for some time and at last it was finally, and irrevocably, upon me.

An unlikely and incongruous series of images as the nexus approached: A moment by the open fire; an order for rabbit stew; an eavesdropper; a message; a doll on a throne; some amount of panic and running; a reunion of sorts; and, at last, an introduction like no other. Pursued from the Burning Wizard, we had headed into the wilderness, finding security in remoteness. Now the four of us stood in the small clearing. My sister by my side. Our halfling antagonist on the small knoll. And in the centre, the star of the show, the answer to all the riddles, the true queen of darkness. I can describe easily enough how she looked. She wore dark chain armour that was hauntingly familiar, almost mirroring my own, and that same black hood and mask that I had become accustomed to glimpsing in the shadows about me. Her long cloak billowed and shifted in the midnight breeze. An illuminating crimson glow radiated warmly from the idle blade at her side.

What I struggle with is describing her presence. It had such depth, and gravity to it. The shadows seemed to bend and shift around her at her whim. Her gaze was alert and piercing, and eminently wise. Somehow, you could feel the intoxicating power she wielded.

She spoke at length in a commanding voice, and for once I was lost for words. I could only listen and wait—with no small sense of dread—for the offer I invariably knew she would make. It was entrancing. Overcome by déjà vu, I derived only snippets of meaning, but her words resonated all the same.

“…Aikura, I have watched you for a long time. It is good that you have those you call allies, though I prefer to call them resources…”

It is beginning again. I can feel it creeping in from the edge of memory. A feeling as sinister as it is familiar, and yet elusive, like something half-dreamed…

“…your knowledge of power in Baldur’s Gate is minimal but noted. It is enough for now that you recognise that true power is not granted through strength of arms alone…”

Cast by light but in darkness mired…

“…we exist to see our kind thrive, to check the excesses of the Fist, to bring some order to the disorder in the shadows…”

…ever possessed; never desired…

“…have I not helped you? Has my agent not nurtured your skills, and kept your sister alive? This was my gift to you in good faith…”

…ever following; never tired…

“…true power exists in the shadows, in our hall, at my side…”

…here it comes…

“…I offer you a chance to be a part of that.”

…some habits, it seems, are hard to break.

My trance faded as her speech ended. I could feel the eyes of all those gathered upon me, the weight of expectation. My sister looked at me and waited; I knew this was what she wanted, but she would follow my lead whatever happened. The shadows looked at me and waited; this was the moment of truth, to see if their investment had paid off. I stood there in silence, a solitary grain lodged defiantly in the nexus of the hourglass, clinging desperately to indecision. Burdened by broken memories, recurring dreams, haunted by uncertainty. After everything, could I walk down this path again?

Once more, the whispers accumulated in my mind, urging me one way or the other, but ever so gradually tipping the balance the only way it could go. Slowly, methodically stripping away the illusion of choice.

...we are watching you...

...some habits are hard to break...

...not bad...getting better...

…not what you wanted to hear…

...wait...

...I am here sister...

The grain fell through the hourglass.

“Count me in.” I said. On my sister’s face, relief. In the shadows, triumph and satisfaction. In my heart, resignation mixed with resolve. At least this time, I had chosen my path. “What happens next?” I asked. The penumbral figure at the centre, regal in her garb of shadows, flashed a smile that was razor-thin, and just as dangerous.

“My dear Aikura…” she said, “…this is just the beginning.”

[Aikura]

-Rising Like Ether-

The soft evening rain drew a shadow-grey curtain between us; misty sheets of glistening silver droplets in the intermittent moonlight. Raindrops splashed on the shadowy threads of my hood and the panels of my armour, coalescing into snaking trails of water that ran down to my boots. He wiped the rain from his eyes and face, and ran his fingers back through his damp hair. His expression was smug, flirtatious even, undampened by the breaking storm. Our eyes met in the occasional distant flash of lightning. We stood there in the wet, regarding each other, confident in our agendas, each pondering the other’s intent now that we had finally met.

I was as prepared as I could be for this meeting. Exploiting every resource available to me, I had studied him, learned to see the world through his eyes, absorbed his aspirations, his prejudices, and his grudges. In the Order, this was the standard pre-op for any target. However, I must admit that on this occasion I invested more time in learning about him than was really necessary to the task. He had characteristics that fascinated me. Obviously, his skills were exceptional, and I now coveted them like so many had coveted mine. Once he was under my control, I would use him to bring down my shadowy antagonists and end this game definitively. It would be an unexpected and decisive blow. I was in a position to see all cards on the table, and had the luxury now of choosing which hand to pick up: One, the other, or with immaculate timing, both.

However, there was another aspect to my interest in him that was less material. He was possessed of a burning loyalty, and an equally potent sense of betrayal. I was amazed, even enamoured at the extent to which this particular trait seemed to shape his reality. There was something dependable, and predictable, and comforting about it. Of course it was ripe for exploitation, and I certainly would, but I could not shake the latent desire to genuinely share in it. This desire had to be suppressed, lest it compromise everything. Perhaps, eventually, I would pursue this from him. One thing at a time, though.

The trick now was in making the meeting appear both adventitious, and serendipitous. The balance of power favoured me and I had to hide this, at least to begin with. Of course, he had noticed me as well; my unique fighting style was a draw for the curious. However, whereas he was an open book to me, to him I would be something of an enigma, giving him tiny insights, tacitly feeding him only enough to keep him interested, until the time was right.

The rain came down as twilight faded into night. All the while we talked, and with each calculated exchange of words he fell more into my trap.

But in the end, one remains…rising like ether, falling like rain…

One indeed.

[Aikura]

-Perfect Synergy-

We threw ourselves against the towering gate, felt the frosted hinges crack and give way. The blast of frozen wind was almost paralysing as we burst through the reluctantly yielding doors and emerged panting out onto the icy tundra, battle-weary, dragging loot and injured limb. I collapsed to my knees exhausted, feeling the stinging cold on my open wounds, discolouring the snow with my blood mixed with that of my enemies. I respired in short, sharp breaths, struggling with the frigid air, burning cold in my lungs.

I looked around at my companions. A fearsome looking group, their every visible feature screamed of the aftermath of battle. Weapons chipped and blood-wetted, armour stained and scarred, clothes ripped and torn, faces dirty with gore and wearing expressions of grim resolve, eyes burning with a deadly light. In a moment’s respite from the chaos and violence behind us, each took a moment now to take stock of their respective damages, hastily bandaging wounds and cleaning weapons. In a measured pace and with shaking hands, I did the same.

Re-sheathing my blades, I lay back in the snow momentarily, still catching my breath. I closed my eyes, and let the images of the last few minutes wash over me. Running through corridors past frost-adorned pillars. Dodging and leaping through the scores of traps in our path. Narrowly evading bolts and spikes and elemental bursts, always just a misjudged step away from death. Somehow we all made it to those final doors. The chamber beyond was teeming with frost giants, the mighty vanguard encircling their king, their horrific bellows echoing and resonating in the icicle-clad ceiling. They wielded enormous axes and hammers, their impacts so strong they seemed to shake the very foundations of the fortress with every weighted blow. We were few, and small, but we ripped through them all. Dancing in and out of the shadows in perfect synchronisation, our blades found the gaps in their armour, cut deeply into exposed flesh, rent limbs and joints and slit throats. Without hesitation or mercy, we brought them all down, one after the other after the other. Until they all lay broken and dismembered in our wake, as bloody calling cards of our massacre.

Now, we were together outside, blasted by the frozen wind, chilling icicles forming on our coagulating wounds. The victorious injured. It was the first time I had put my training to the test and fought with them as a unit. I could not deny how flawlessly we meshed. It was perfect synergy. I had accepted the offer merely to prolong the game, but it seemed the question of where I truly belonged would inevitably surface once more. I swore never to serve any agenda but my own. But now, with each day that passed, with each card that was played, I was being co-opted.

For now I would relish the moment and share in the spoils of our victory. Still lying in the snow, I looked to my sister. She had taken one of the worst hits, and her face was blood-soaked from the gash on her head. And yet, her irrepressible, euphoric grin could move the mountain on which we were now gathered. I could not help but grin stupidly back at her. We had been magnificent, after all.

[Aikura]

-New Clothes-

My face warmed in the amiable glow of the fire in its hearth, the flickering cantaloupe light illuminating the deserted common room. No one was about at this late hour, the tables were unfettered, the many couches and chairs lay vacant. I sat comfortably on the rug nearest the fire, amid my small island of messy clutter. Around me were splayed strips of cloth and leather, rings of chain, small pots and brushes, tacks and strings and other paraphernalia. Additionally, two sets of clothes, my newly completed projects, were laid out on the varnished wooden floor beyond the rug, away from the hearth.

The first, a long, black, hooded robe. Dark and beautiful and flowing, its atramentous threads subtly glistening gold in the flickering firelight. The sheen seemed distant and faint relative to its proximity to the light source, a function of my intent. The material had been difficult to acquire, rare and highly sought as it was. It possessed similar light-dampening properties to my armour, but it was weightless and unhindering, like shadow itself. One day, this robe would be iconic.

The second would never be iconic. Indeed, only very few would live to remember it. I had painstakingly ringed the mithral chain together, and applied and tacked the hardened, lacquered leather panels. From here, I had methodically layered the dye to gradually bring the finish from ebony through cinereal, and eventually to the desired silver-white hue. I had repeated the process with the hood and mask. Now the dyes were set and dry, the ensemble complete.

I removed my armour and clothes, and slipped into this new garb. Momentarily indulging in the satisfaction of a perfect fit, I ran my hands down the tapered sides, feeling where the panels met and finding no imperfections or creases to be smoothed. Standing in front of the mirror, I beheld the last thing my enemies would see before they felt the finality of my blades. A ghostly silver visage, I would be an unnatural, haunting flicker of light in the shadows. A spectre of death. This was an act I never imagined I would repeat. This garb was special. These were mission clothes.

After all that had happened since I left the Order and came to the Coast, the circle was finally complete. New clothes. New home. New family. New name. New destiny.

Time to go to work.