It was the final morning Hwayoung would be staying in Osayn. She had prepared her canoe, her oars, food supplies, village curatives, and an assortment of other tools stuffed into a backpack thrice her size. She had difficulty even standing with it. Walking was an afterthought. Hazahnahkah did not expect her to be able to be gone for even half a day, much less two months, and that was probably for the best. The sooner she gave up, the sooner she was safe.

  Travelers came to Osayn early that morning as well. Hazahnahkah recognized their silken garb and thunderbolt insignias, coursing like the rage of Serpent’s Ramble. They were visitors from The Fawn Cities—visitors that weren’t supposed to be here.

  They came for simple trade. They brought basic goods, seeking only to repair the boats they had used to arrive here. There was a loud snoring that followed them. It wouldn’t go away until Hazahnahkah realized it must have been someone sleeping—the spear strapped to the back of one of them.

  “Are you… alive?” Hazahnahkah asked.

  The spear snapped up. He snorted. “HUH! Who goes there!”

  “I’m a sword, Hazahnahkah.”

  “And I’m The Rapscallion of Blood and Rust.”

  “Wow! You’re a Rapscallion too!?”

  “It’s called sarcasm you nitwit. My name is Lahahm, and of course I am alive. I am a spear after all.”

  Hazahnahkah had so many questions. This spear seemed to assume all weapons were alive, which was certainly not true at all. It also seemed unconvinced by Hazahnahkah’s introduction. Humans often did what they called “small talk” before asking deeper questions. It seemed to be an issue with comfort, or sanity, or an odd kind of popular expectation. Hazahnahkah started with this, since his interactions with Knife had not gone so well in recent days. “You have a beautiful name. Welcome to Osayn Lahahm! Welcome to Osayn!”

  “What is your real name?”

  “Hazahnahkah is my real name.”

  The spear groaned. “Then why do they all call you Vrast? Are you a liar? Why are you bound by chains and incense and seals when the girl does not carry you?”

  Hazahnahkah shivered in his prison. “I have made mistakes.”

  “Are you sure? The Knife with No Name told me otherwise.”

  It had been awhile since the knife had uttered anything. Hazahnahkah was surprised, to say the least, then confused. Lahahm had only just arrived. How did he know about the knife? Nazaki had not gone outside with her today.

  The spear seemed to read how confused the sword’s vibrations were. “The Knife with No Name told me many things about you. More than about herself. I find her suspicious, but I also find you suspicious, which gives credibility to her statements, but also perhaps, her statements are what make me find you suspicious, but also I kind of find myself suspicious because I forget things without knowing why. Everything is sus!”

  This was a lot for Hazahnahkah to take in. “Why was I suspicious again?”

  This simple question made the spear hesitate, almost as if he had lost track himself. “Because you are too friendly.”

  Hazahnahkah jested. “Then I shall be sure to be especially cruel to you.”

  Lahahm laughed. “So you have some edge... Although I do not fully trust you, I must inform you of what the knife has been saying about you.”

  “Saying about me? To who?”

  “To everyone. To everything. To even the humans that don’t realize.”

  “How can she speak to humans?” Hazahnahkah asked.

  “Through dreams,” Lahahm answered simply. “She speaks poorly of you, and perhaps that is a reflection of herself. Thought is always a reflection of one’s self.”

  “You’re… You’re wise.”

  “I’m new.” Lahahm gleamed happily in the glare of the sun. “Knife said she’d send good men bad dreams.”

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  Hwayoung left swiftly without giving Hazahnahkah the chance to investigate further into what that meant. He shouted at Lahahm to reverberate across the village with him, but the spear seemed too bothered to do so.

  About half of the same group of men then stirred around Yulisca’s house. Hazahnahkah could hear them easily as Hwayoung kept her window open, perhaps hoping that Nazaki would sneak in to forgive her—to keep her company again.

  But only the men stood watching.

  “So that’s Vrast,”

  “Yes, the Creator Blade herself.”

  “It is possible that the girl may wake and we will die attempting to take her.”

  “Possibilities have never stopped you before.”

  “It would be pathetic, wouldn’t it? Slain by an Osayn child never visited by war.”

  “That’s exactly why we need Vrast. She can stop Yurreth. With her we can save The Fawn Cities. Vikushak needs us.”

  Hazahnahkah then realized these weren’t any normal travelers. If he found his way into their arms, he might see Ysan again—but he couldn’t leave Hwayoung. Not because he liked Hwayoung more, or that he ought to stay with his current wielder, but rather a more direct reason.

  They were a group of good men with bad dreams. They spoke of getting rich and helping others, growing stronger and defending others, and gaining prestige to lead. All of them were delusional, for it was from Hazahnahkah’s travels that he knew intuitively that they were all untrue assumptions: you did not need to be rich to help, you did not need strength to defend, and you did not need prestige to lead.

  One crept passed the window, more bold than the rest. “Vrast has chosen us. Otherwise it would not have given us those dreams. Don’t be afraid.”

  But they were afraid, and they scattered when Hazahnahkah released a burst of air pressure he had been storing to shield the girl from danger and waking. The sword had not given them any dreams, but it was clear who had. These humans were Knife’s doing.

  Hazahnahkah was in disbelief. A weapon—an object—capable of giving humans dreams. Even with all of Hazahnahkah’s Terrors combined he could not do this. The knife was abnormal to say the least, perhaps even as abnormal as him.

  It was an even greater surprise that Nazaki turned up the morning Hwayoung would leave Osayn, but it was not to say goodbye. He had a long coat with black fur cuffs he wore around himself to hide his missing arms and asymmetry. Beneath it were daggers, shurigan, and guns. It seemed the weapons of December 11th had persevered in his wake. The men who had come to take Hazahnahkah also seemed keen on taking Nazaki away.

  Or the other way around.

  Nazaki led them with a surprisingly iron fist that the boy had never shown before. He snarled and he commanded and the men listened steadfast. They untethered Hwayoung’s moored boat and hopped inside, taking her supplies and belongings.

  “It is our dream to serve you,” they would say. “To serve he who is chosen by Hazahnahkah.”

  Again, this must have been Knife’s doing.

  Hwayoung had already been awake, fashioning Nazaki’s laundry to the lines connecting her house to his. She had been watching in secret until they unmoored her boat. She sprinted down the hill after them, nearly straight into the Petal Death.

  “Nazaki!” Hwayoung cried. “Who are these men!? Where are you going!?”

  “They’re mine.”

  “This is insanity! You have only just met them!”

  “I had a dream, Hwayoung… And I shared it with them. We travel to the stars.”

  What he said did not make sense to Hazahnahkah. It did not seemed to make sense to Hwayoung either. “You cannot cross the Petaled Death with one arm! Will you use one oar?! Even if you could, do the stars have grass? Or just more flowers like those that poison us here?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been there.”

  “So then why go? There cannot be greatness without good, Nazaki. The stars are evil places! Seducing men from far away and giving them nothing when they arrive.”

  “Better to die in search of truth than die never knowing at all.”

  “Knife!” Hazahnahkah called. “You did this! Fix this at once!”

  Knife only laughed. No one but Hazahnahkah could hear her.

  Hazahnahkah shouted louder. “The dream isn’t his. You gave it to him!”

  “It’s his dream now. A gift. What better gift is there than hope?”

  “It’s not his hope. It’s not his dream. Return the boy his dream.”

  “I took nothing. I gave. I gave so much that he gave up… himself.”

  “I know you are angry about not being Hwayoung’s, but this is not the right way. This is not the path to freedom.”

  The knife laughed. “Freedom is not real.”

  “Knife!”

  Before Hazahnahkah could vibrate another word, Hwayoung had stolen someone else’s raft and taken it upon herself to chase Nazaki. She snarled as she paddled like a madwoman—not caring at all for the pink death waves that slammed her side to side, veins popping from her throat as red filled her face and tears swelled her stare. “I’ve cooked for you, cleaned for you, cared for you—and still it’s not enough? Have I not given you both my arms? My knife? My life? Still even now your rage brews?” She squatted low as she took a wide-footed stance like December 11th, shoulders parallel to the rising sun.

  Nazaki’s eyes fell on her as one’s eyes fell to spilled milk. “You served me impeccably, but two arms can only do so much.” He turned to his men. “What are your two arms compared to my two dozen?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Hazahnahkah was aghast. He was forced to activate his Second Terror and Third Terror immediately as Hwayoung leapt from her vessel into Nazaki’s. The petals wouldn’t be able to touch her due to gravity manipulation, but Hazahnahkah knew he would still have to be careful. He didn’t know these petals. He could not manipulate them, and gravity was the best shield he could think to make.

  Tragedy was coming, and it came in the form of an unfathomable wave.

  Lahahm clashed with Hazahnahkah as one of Nazaki’s men confronted Hwayoung. Immediately the spear realized he was coming into contact with a force he could not possibly parry.

  “Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!” Lahahm cried as he was swung into Hazahnahah in a torrent of furious strikes. “I don’t mean to do this my friend! I’m terribly sorry about this! Please go easy on me! Hazahnahkah! I am your biggest fan!”

  Hwayoung: Affectionate 45/100 → Emboldened 65/100

  Ysan: Lamented 100/100