Sister, Dance Your Dance

[Lillith]

Closed to Erikar.

An idyllic dream. A phantasmal image to remind one of home. The arena, today, was just that. Still, Lillith found herself thinking less of the home she left behind and more of the ruins that remained. Remorse weighed heavily on her, draining her spirits, and leaving her bereft of enthusiasm. Akashima was her responsibility. The Greater Oni, as dead as they were, had done much to slay the might of Capitol City.

She knelt at the heart of a slated courtyard, though the flagstones long crumbled and the shikumen long toppled by time. Red pillars stood at the four compass points, mottled by the wind that howled in from the east. North stood the gate out into the old highway, a road that ran concourse with the trade lanes through Capitol’s heart. Long ago, before the inevitable rise of bureaucracy, this had been the Shogun’s summer home.

“Forgive me, forefathers,” whispered the assassin. She raised her blade so its tip pointed skyward. Its weight was penance, its blade executioner, and its bloodied edge sentence for the slayer of gods.

She kept her eyes closed, a painted face pallid and white revealing her state of mind. She wore a tight fitting kimono, cut into a less than traditional style laced with Scara Braen lack of tact. Her hair cut shorter than it had ever been, save for a long black braid on her right. Her apology echoed around the courtyard, and put the spirits that lingered watchful and vengeful to rest.

[Erikar]

An eerie nightmare. An unfamiliar land. The arena was just as much of an enigma to Erikar as the dwellers of this quiet island. So different from his bustling city that he knew so well; so different from the loud, selfish, uncaring populace. The killer felt no love for this peaceful land, so silent and reflective in its sorrow. It drew his thoughts to his own life; he hated himself more and more the longer he stayed. The young assassin found it hard to be alone; the focus that had held his rapt attention for so long now seemed like a meaningless escapism. Now that he wasn't fighting to survive, he wondered solmenly.

'Why am I here?'

The soft patter of his own footfalls were his only answer as he strolled through the Capitol. Lye was always so damn cryptic.

'Why can't he just tell me what the hell I'm looking for?' The Writ from the Order seemed heavy in his pocket. It said so little, he had almost stopped searching. It always seemed to Erikar that finding something was easier when one stopped caring about finding it. So, he did his best to avoid brooding and tried to enjoy his walk through the ruins of the city.

His path along the cracked stone slates brought him to an open plaza, empty save a girl who appeared in mourning, silvery blade raised high. Not wanting to break her meditation with a rude comment, Erikar drew his own blade. The steel of his blade rasped like the dying breath of the souls who resided here. The woman seemed unfazed, unwilling to break her silent contemplation. The young killer, so like this woman and yet so different, stalked quietly to where she kneeled. He studied her for a prolonged moment, taking in the slight curves of her body beneath her kimono and the ivory makeup that hid the tone of her skin. Then, with a smooth motion, he knelt next to her and held his own blade point down on the cobbles.

Their hearts beat in time with the world, and for a inexorable, implicit moment, they were one. He held his silence with her, reflecting over all that he had done, the entirety of who he was. The quiet reflection drew on, until finally he could take it no longer.

It was time.

"Are you the one I was sent to find?" Erikar asked, his voice a whisper, his emerald eyes still peacefully shut.

[Lillith]

Lillith opened her eyes. Her opponent had entered the arena and immediately announced his presence to her. Like a skulking tigress, she had waited. Most men, lesser men, would have tried to cut her down whilst she was off-guard. The fact this one had not leant him much merit.

“That depends,” she replied. Her common pronunciation was thick with Akashiman drawl. “Have I done something to usurp your master’s authority?”

She turned her head to examine the boy, and immediately recognised him. The Order’s reputation, since Eiskalt, had begun to proceed its many agents. Repeatedly, the people of the still free kingdoms had suffered beneath the weight of tyrants and despots. The man this man served, Lye, was the worst of many.

“Whatever your reasons for being her, peon, let it be known I am not one for being prey.” She pressed her left hand down onto the slate shards, and let their sharp reminder of her burgeoning mortality ground her. Anger swelled in her stomach, swift to undo her afternoon’s meditations.

A breeze, idyllic and carrying with it jasmine and hope swept in from the east. The Courtyard, for just a moment, reminded the assassin of its former glory. Everywhere she looked echoes of the past and the possibility of a future haunted her. Her geta kicked aside the slate until her toes touched the hallowed earth. A connect. A remembrance. A bond unbroken between daughter and mother.

“So. Ask yourself. Even if I am, am I worth the trouble?” She smirked. She held the tip of her blade to his neck and let the essence of the Jurugumo flow through her. Her eyes glimmered deep purple, and her skin darkened with its malefic. Her open challenge roared through the silence of Akashima of old.

[Erikar]

He drew in a deep breath as the tip of her tanto met his pale flesh. Erikar's met her purple eyes out of the corner of his own, and he smiled enigmatically.

"That is not for me to decide."

The woman was obviously dangerous. It radiated from every aspect of her: the tone of her voice, the calm way she held the blade, the demonic color of her skin. She would not go easily, but they never did. Whether she was the prey she believed herself not waited to be seen, but the young assassin was beginning to have his doubts. His master often sought to test him against those he stood little chance against.

He let his eyes wander for a moment, knowing she would not strike him down. The decaying ruin surrounding them only served as a reminder of how fragile he was. His pulse beat steadily against the cold metal of her blade, and he felt in tune with the world once more. A soft breeze rustled through the courtyard, shattering the stillness of their dying arena. His smile turned to a furious scowl.

'I will not die here.'

Erikar attempted to push her blade away without movement, feeling the pull on his soul as his energy left him. His emerald eyes shined brilliantly, and still kneeling, he switched his grip on the hilt of his sword and swung mightily. His answer rang out in defiance.

[Lillith]

For every action, a reaction. As the magnetic force knocked aside the katana, Lillith’s guile raised a tanto in her defence. The strength in his swing was titanic, and soon her parry failed her as well. She rolled out of harm’s way, a whirl of midnight back through cascading grey shale. Rising with grace, the assassin spread her legs, brought up both blades, and crossed them.

“A wise and prudent answer.” Her voice became otherworldly. It echoed with the weight of ages and the screams of the Spider God’s victims. The Tanto in her right hand channelled such agonies into her, giving her the strength to remain fearless and intrepid before her would be killer.

“Less so your master’s assumption that I will be lain low by…,” she trailed off. Her lip, pouting her indignation, finished her sentence for her.

She stepped back into his guard, exchanged blows, span, and clashed her tanto against his sword. Each rotation, each back and forth, their defence shouted in stubborn denial. The clearing echoed with their refusal to bow down to the ideas of their superiors. Realising the futility of her actions, and her low opinion of Erikar, Lillith retreated.

“…you. But,” she continued abruptly, “perhaps I am the one who is unwise. <Metal man.>” Returning her blades to a cross, like a spider’s legs spinning a web of deceit and intrigue and lies. “Your turn,” she offered. The soft wind continued t whisper through the clearing, its flow a calming, fearless verse.