One more.

She sat in front of me and stared at the map with badly veiled interest. She was a human with a warm skin tone and a couple of freckles around her nose. Her lips moved slightly as she tilted her head to read the names of the seas and places. She had long wavy locks of ebony hair, held back by an onyx adorned headband. Her face was slim, but with soft edges around the jaw, with plenty of laughter-lines around her eyes. Even now, as she was earnest and professional, the lines made her face glow and mirthful.

She wore a short, dark leather jacket and managed to wear the simple cloth she wore underneath with a poise that would put many of the ladies to shame, I have had to dance with on the balls of the imperial nobility. She wore a messenger’s bag, just like I did, and she had put it beside her on the table, as she studied the map.

“I guess you have an inkling as to why that map is here.” I said.

She smiled at me. “I have.”

“So,” I stalled, “you are interested in the knowledge I have to offer?”

“Of course, I am. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, don’t you think?” She was still smiling, making friendly banter, not dismissing me out of spite. “I am Thana.”

“I am Raven. I do have information on the Dragon of Darkness. I am really sorry, but I cannot share it without…”

She held up her hand to stop me. “I know. I am not new to this. It is just the game we play.” Her smile turned a little bit of sour. “We can hate it, but we cannot avoid it. To be frank, I would like to trade something else than Shards, if you are interested.”

“I might be. What do you have in mind?”

“Souls.”

I fell silent. My first instinct was to say no. But to be honest, I had no idea. I was entangled with souls, in some ways. They walked with me. But I had absolutely no idea what to do with a soul someone offered me. That seemed to be wrong, somehow.

“I…honestly, I did not expect that.”

“Oh sorry, I might’ve made a mistake then.” She said, slightly embarrassed.

“No, I just never had to think about that. To be perfectly honest, I do not know what that even means.”

“Well, if you do not know, you clearly would not be interested. Let me offer you Shards, then.” She rummaged through her bag, clearly a little bit flushed. It was endearing, really. She had something about her, something…homely.

I nodded. What would I do with a foreign soul? I truly had no idea. And though I was intrigued - any information would be valuable in handling the souls I was responsible for- I was not sure it would help me and the living I was concerned about right now.

I tried to smile but remembered wearing the blank mask. She was friendly after that, payed 60 Shards for my information and left after she listened to what I had to say about the dragon. The room immediately felt boring without her in it.

I wanted to talk to her again. I had not even realized how much I had enjoyed that brief little exchange until she was gone.

I made a split-second decision and put away my mask and pulled back the hood of my cloak, running after her. I found her leaned against the railing of the walkway, rummaging through her bag again. She was confused for a second as I approached because I did not wear the mask but her smile turned warmer when she identified my cloak. A strand of her hair was cheekily standing away from her head.

“Excuse me.” I said. “This is unbecoming of me, but I cannot get past your words. I have much to learn and I am desperate to. Maybe I can convince you to accompany me to the common area?”

“And why would I do that, mysterious man selling dangerous information?” She asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes

I took a deep breath. More than anywhere else, I felt like a fish out of water. I did not quite understand it, but my heart was beating just that little bit faster as her bright green eyes scanned my face.

“I have never been, but I heard the nectar sold in the common area of the Fulcrum is spectacular. If you would allow me to invite you…?”

“I am sorry. I am short on time.” She said with an apologetic smile. “But we will speak when we next meet, I promise!”

But she smiled. She smiled!

Every time she did, a wall crumbled around a pit in my stomach had not known existed.

I stood there watching her leave. Had I said my goodbyes? She turned her head on last time, as she entered the crowd on the marketplace, flashing me one last beaming look. I watched her flowing hair disappear in the crowd and kept looking, even after I had lost sight of her.

After I had returned to my room to ask the advisor for information, it turned out I had no more messages, besides those I had rejected outright because I judged the sender to be nefarious or shady. With nothing else left to do, I left my room for the marketplace. Now that I had made a little bit of profit for nothing but a nebulous risk and some unforeseeable consequences, I had to try to find something that could truly help me. Last time I had been here, I had come up with nothing.

But if I visited the marketplace, I had to visit Belen, the Storysmith. And that was something I definitely felt uneasy about. There was just something in this spider related walking pile of rags that made my skin crawl.

“Hello Belen.” I said as I came to his stall from the side, as he was swiping off dust from his artifacts. No one even threw a glance in his direction. No one seemed to be interested in his wares. He still had the same collection of odd items laid out on his table.

He turned to me, actually whistling a high-pitched happy sound. “Raven! What a pleasure! Do you need something tonight?”

I nodded. “Not one of your artifacts, though. I came to show you something special.”

Belen wrung his hands under his rags in excitement and let out a noise that could almost be called a squeal. “Aaah, how I have longed for this moment to come!” He rustled around, but then calmed himself. “There is no need for any bystander to see what you are bringing before me. If you would follow me to my workshop?”

He began moving his artifacts into a sack, repeating the word ‘yes’ a couple of times in anticipation, and soon I was following him up the stairs to a nondescript door, which he yanked open. “Come! Come!” He said and rustled inside.

I entered a round cave of marbled stone, heat washed over me as I stepped over the threshold. The room was lacking any furniture despite a slab of rock the size of a dinner table in the center and a giant loom standing near the wall.

“Can you show me?” Belen asked, as he rounded the slap. “Place it here.”

I willed Kingsbane out of the [Hidden Sheath] and placed the sword on the rock. Belen came around, leaning far over, until the curtain of cloth stripes he had in front of his face was only an inch away from the black metal.

“Excellent!” He muttered, shuddering in pleasure. “Yes. The web is so much clearer now. Tell me, please!” He looked up to me.

“I know the name of the sword before it became infamous in my kingdom. It was called Whisper.”

“Whisper?” Belen nodded. “What a strange name for a sword this…noticeable.”

“But I still don’t know the whole story. I know the man who wielded and lost it, but I don’t know what happened before that.

“That is a tragedy. But there is so much more hope now. If this sword had a name before the act of treason you told me about, it is likely to have been a part of more significant acts. Ah, the tension between the name Whisper and what the sword looks like. There is something there, I can feel it.”

He let his hands, still covered by the rags, hover over the blade of the sword, swinging from side to side.

“Yes! I can feel it. It is covered thickly with the honey of narrative weight. I can almost taste it.” And he grabbed something out of thin air and hurried over to the loom, pulling a continuous thread of silk from the blade, which he fastened to the top beam.

He then felt the thread with the thin, hairy legs he had for hands, investigating every inch of the thread with great care.

“It is whole.” He rasped relieved. “Both blade and handle have not been changed. Neither has it been reforged. Good news if ever I heard some.”

He pulled a second thread out of the blade and added it to the loom. “There is a slight dissonance in the story you told me.” He sounded frowning, but I could of course not see his face.

“Wait. I will pull a bit more.” He went back and forth until a dozen threads were hanging from the top beam of the loom. Then he stood back, studying them from a distance. “Yes. There is a mistake. The threads are not immaculate. You know a truth. But you do not know the whole truth.”

“What are you saying?”

“This sword has killed a king. That much is clear to see. And the strike was made in betrayal. Tasty, glorious betrayal. But there is more there. There is more to the story. A good reason.” Belen whirled around and jumped over to me, impossibly fast. “I need that reason! Bring me that reason! This story is too delicious to not be told.”

I raised my hands. “I don’t have it.”

“You don’t understand. It is perfect. It is whole. I need that reason.”

I stepped back. “Belen. Calm down. I truly do not understand.”

“Sorry, Raven. I am sorry. I get excited.” He hid his hands under the rags again, visibly restraining himself.

“Explain it to me then. What is it you are after? What is narrative weight?”

“Not an easy task, I ensure you. But I will try. Well, if Essence is the threads of which creation is woven, narrative weight is the sweet morsel of accomplishment that is the result of creation happening and turning into history. Creation allows for stories to happen. What I skim off the top is like refined Essence. Essence that has a history, dyed in all possible colors and tastes.”

He made a noise like smacking his lips.

“How can something mundane have Essence? And refine it, no less?”

“Ahh, you are tainted by the reality you have been forced into. Remember wonder and miracle when you were nothing but a mortal, listening to your queen at the central loom? That is power. True power, which cannot be forced into systems and rules. Magic that transcends any logic.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“You have been given the gift of manipulating reality to some degree, I presume. But Essence accumulates without godlings interfering. In the classes of mortals. In items with narrative weight. In interesting lives. Some mortals or items are just…fated to be interesting. History revolves around them, resolves through them, with no involvement of a greater power.”

He turned to the sword, touching it. “You see it now? Even the greatest of gods yearn for this. Because they cannot control it. Because they don’t understand it. Because it amuses them or because they are offended by it.”

“And what part do you play in this?”

“I take the morsels of truth and I weave them. I use that weight to give back or for my own. Either way, I collect something even the gods fear or yearn for. Sometimes it is just renown that gives meaning. If enough voices exalt something, it will become truth. Sometimes the weight cannot be explained even by that.”

“I understand. And what does that mean for me? And Kingsbane?”

“There are two parts to this. Kingsbane might be an artifact and we might awaken it. But I need the full story, at least. It may even be possible that its story is not finished yet, and the awakening has to wait until you or someone else wields the sword in moments of historical or narrative importance. The other service I can offer you is weaving what is here already. The weight, woven as you would weave Essence. The more my weave resembles the truth of the sword, the more powerful it will be. The more of the story I know, the more weight I can use.”

“And we should not do it?”

“No. We should not. You do not even know the truth about the short part of the story that has been taught to you. It will be shoddy, murky work. Wasted potential. Wasted weight. The story of the sword is segmented. Find me that good reason I saw earlier. The reason for the betrayal. And we will have a whole story. Not the complete story, but something to work with.”

Dead gods. Damn you all.