“I want to be beautiful,” Ysan said.

  Hazahnahkah had watched Ysan grow for many years. She was a young woman now, wearing her hair long and teal with curled, locked bunches. She organized the sea of her disarray in the mirror, constantly judging herself for it. Her earlobes, long. Her nose, soft. She bore the eyes of a tiger. Her features did not align with what the cities of Serpent’s Ramble adored.

  Hazahnahkah evaluated her for notable changes these past several years:

  Health (source of vitality and abilities): 800

  Energy (source of stamina and abilities): 300

  Agility (speed of actions): 250

  Regeneration (rate of recovery per hour for Health and Energy): 20

  Tenacity (resistance to unwanted effects): 20

  Strength (physical or mental reality manipulation potency): 50

  [Ysan’s Relationships]

  Hazahnahkah: Attached 50/100

  Ysan may not have been the smartest, the fastest, or the strongest of his wielders, but Hazahnahkah thought she was the most beautiful of any face who had wielded him. Perhaps even, it was her beauty which allowed him to stay conscious even when she did not hold him for brief periods of time. He had been swung many times by women and men who shared features with those many in Serpent’s Ramble would have worshiped, yet, he had never felt anything looking at them. By comparison, that meant Ysan was the most beautiful of all.

  She worked as a ferrymaiden, and kept herself at home at all other times. For some reason, most villagers organized their lives with their work first and home second.

  Ul had been Ysan’s roommate and constant companion. She was more appreciated by Serpent’s Ramble. Glorified, even. Her dark hair, crescent eyes, and small waist constantly the talk of the towns. She sighed, coming up behind the woman in the mirror. There was a pause, not of disbelief, but of thinking. Hazahnahkah was a very empathetic sword. He could not only feel and think as his wielders did, but also as those around them did. Ul was going to try and make Ysan feel better.

  Ul parted Ysan’s bangs, stylizing her hair with an ornamental pin. “All that matters is the inside.”

  Ysan frowned. “Beautiful people tell beautiful lies. Nobody believes them… They are like paintings you know are not real, and yet still we look for hours anyway.”

  “I think looking at a painting can be a violent experience, just like looking at an ugly person is.”

  “Violent in what way?”

  “Oftentimes we try to make meaning out of things, rather than find what is already there. Paintings are often mirrors of a deeper kind.”

  “Remind me why you model again?”

  “Because it pays well, and because I can. I rather dislike it. Some might say being hideous is the most beautiful thing of all. Then people can only see you for what you truly are, and you know their love is true.”

  “I am not loved,” Ysan said.

  Ul shot her a glance.

  “Sorry.” Ysan stared at her knees with regret for what she had said.

  The two ferrymaidens got ready for work before every slight of dawn with philosophical banter and Hazahnahkah rather enjoyed it. The water of Serpent’s Ramble was often still these days, its glass curtains wrinkled only by the passing of other boats and the showering hail of auburn and rust leaves.

  The world of Serpent’s Ramble was an odd place, in the sense no one was sure what bore the name first—the river, or the world. Kingdoms, vagabonds, and even woodland creatures all stayed near the river seeking its nourishment, life, and familiarity. The farther one strayed from the river, the more alien the world became—and so Serpent’s Ramble had remained largely unexplored for thousands upon thousands of years.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Often, Ysan and Ul ferried merchants or politicians up and down the river between the City of Remedy’s lantern-filled arbors and Xinya’s scarlet gates.

  It was good money, but rumor had it that war had come to the head of Serpent’s Ramble, spurred by complex and stupid political motives between Solipsay and Zabubin.

  Even the names of those empires seemed idiotic to Hazahnahkah now. They never led to anything good. The only possible benefit there was to them was that Ul’s mother, Xiun, had somehow managed to expand a thriving business between them, and this kept her at bay from causing trouble.

  Though Ysan continued to be depressed by her work. Ul was tipped more and more, and whenever Ysan was tipped, it was only out of pity for tipping Ul to begin with, or being perceived as less attractive. Hazahnahkah did not understand why it got to the woman so much. He could not stand that it did. Ul shared everything with Ysan. They made a comfortable living. His wielder should not have viewed the need for “beauty” in such a flawed and impractical way. It was, after all, an illusion.

  The season of ystallo was nearly here however, and when the seasons changed Ysan planned to propose. She intended on being married by the year’s end.

  The man Ysan liked was called Imra. A handsome fellow with dark hair and piercings of emerald, sapphire, and gold. He was liked by Ul as well. Many women liked him. He was kind, and intelligent, but Hazahnahkah saw that when it came to humans, where one wanted, the rest followed. Jewelry, fame, and a place on the Elkoalkim Council was a good way of catching the eye.

  Imra was an alright guy who did alright things but Hazahnahkah wanted someone extraordinary for his wielder. He was debating whether to hope the man rejected Ysan’s advances.

  Ul dropped Ysan and him off at one of lesser-known waterways of Serpent’s Ramble, and Imra soon picked them up afterward. They paddled to a place only Ysan and Ul frequented. She must have been serious, then.

  It was a cavernous and winding course, lit by fish with fire for fins and glowing veins. When Imra asked where he was being taken, Ysan was quick to reveal several bowls filled with berries, eggs, nuts, scales, and a plethora of other produce.

  “Painting,” she answered, gesturing to the wall “I made sure to get all your favorite colored pigments.”

  Imra smiled at that, took a bowl for himself, and began using a patch of weed he had torn from the dirt to work upon the walls. The boat stayed its pace, keeping him on his toes. He painted swiftly, curiously, desperately, attempting to illustrate every detail he could within each inch every second forced him to pass. This was undoubtedly his most attractive feature. His drive.

  The painting never seemed to stop. It seemed to be the wind, or the water, encompassing a pattern of carriages, ferries, and kites. Ysan even drew the mysterious little silver discs that the people of The Fawn Cities so often saw.

  Her painting hand grew tired and she hung her head low at her finished work. She had drawn Hazahnahkah. This version of him had clouds, lovebirds, and planets surrounding him. How flattering. It seemed even in art the sky still stole from him. Ysan’s artist’s brush dipped into The River and bled the color of Clest.

  “Perhaps I should let it end,” Imra said, clearly dissatisfied with his mural.

  The imagery was a discombobulation of many different things spiraling in a vortex. Clearly the vortex was Serpent’s Ramble, but it was going up instead of down. Furthermore, all kinds of nonsense drowned in it: people sagging their pants, swordfish with wings, spherical carriages that were somehow capable of flight.

  “What is it supposed to be?”

  “No one has ever been there, but it is rumored what lies beyond The Serpent’s Tail. A waterrise… and beyond it stranger things…”

  “A what?” Ysan asked.

  “A water rise.”

  “What is that?”

  “You know we fall as water does? Waterfalls and such?”

  “Yes.” Ysan nodded. She recited a common mantra of The Fawn Cities. “The Almighty’s love pulls us towards the earth, towards the center of creation.”

  “Well, there—at The Serpent’s Tail—the water rises.”

  “Sounds like an evil place.”

  Imra laughed at that. “Perhaps… Or perhaps it is where the Almighty allows the things they love to finally be free.”

  Darkness came at this. A great shadow passed below, chasing away the other fish. Hazahnahkah shivered at the sight, and Ysan touched him gently. Perhaps she sensed something from him she ought not be able to sense. He did not like deep sea shadows. It was a fear he never understood.

  “I ran into a naked man and woman long ago, sparring in the woods,” Imra said. “They were capable of doing things I’ve seen no man or woman do.”

  “Naked? Uh, in what sense?”

  “Cutting mountains clean, shattering swollen clouds, burning rivers dry...”

  “I think they hit your head.”

  “I’m serious,” Imra managed, disgruntled. “They were real, but they made no sound. As if their battle was a secret they agreed on. Like gods. No, worse. I was very young—maybe no older than nine… so scared I wet myself. They stopped fighting when they saw me... They told me why fruit falls. It was not because of love.”

  “Then why?”

  “Gravity.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a law of the world—what must go up must come down.”

  “Some law! You just said the water at Serpent’s Tail rises.”

  Imra replied with ceremonial silence. His eyes glittered, and he looked suddenly very emotional. Ysan read his face, mystified by what the man had said. Hazahnahkah knew vaguely of what was being implied—that there were other worlds out there—beyond The Serpent’s Tail.