Thrice, the bell rung; and the skies were dark grey. A storm was coming. Skystorm.

Elaine and Freya walked through the crowd, dodging the passersby that flooded the street. As the clouds grew nearer, anxiety rose and the people scrambled in hurry. Most of them sought safety and security; quickening their pace or running toward their shelter. Elaine had lost count on how many people she had bumped so far.

Walking beside her, Freya didn’t seem bothered at all by the surge of passersby, she dodged them all just fine; all while maintaining her irritated gait of pressing her feet slightly deeper on the concrete with each step. To-day’s search for a sea vessel was a failure. She had asked all the captains and sailors she had came across with, but all of them replied with similar answers: ‘It’s the skystorm. Get lost.’

Thud, Elaine bumped into a man’s shoulder. ‘Sorry!’ she apologized, but the person took no notice and walked away briskly.

Elaine’s mind wandered to the person she had bumped previously: a kimonoed lady with pitch-black eyes. Perhaps it was her outfit that made her hard to forget, perhaps her forlorn back as she walked away, or perhaps how Freya had touched her shoulder when Elaine bumped the kimonoed lady.

That gesture means something, Elaine thought. She did not do such gesture when Elaine had bumped into other strangers. Only toward the kimonoed lady. Only her.

‘That gesture of yours,’ Elaine walked closer to Freya, ‘what does it mean?’

She thought that her voice drowned in the murmur of passersby and didn’t reach Freya, but it turned out that she was just using some time to think. ‘Which?’ she asked back.

I hate that. Answering a question with a question. ‘The one where you place a hand on your shoulder.’

‘I do that?’

‘You’re doing it right now,’ Elaine pointed out. Freya realized where her hand was and she let go of her shoulder.

‘Huh,’ was her only remark.

And just like that, Freya didn’t answer the question at all. This avoidance of hers, of not giving solid answers such as a “yes” or a “no”, was very suspicious to Elaine. As much as she would like to accuse her of faking her ‘answer’, doing so wouldn’t achieve anything for Elaine. What I need to do is note this behavior of hers and sketch a conclusion. If she’s not giving me answers, then I’ll have to find out mysel—

Thud. Again, she bumped. Again, she uttered, ‘Sorry!’ This time around, the person who bumped her apologized back too.

When she was about to turn and face frontward, Elaine noticed that she was in front of a dressing store. This store had iron net instead of glass for showcasing their product. A flashy red gown worn by an attractively posed mannequin to capture the eyes of passersby, and flashy accessories beside it. What took Elaine’s attention was the pair of black gloves that was being showcased by the store. She happened to be looking for a pair of gloves.

‘Freya,’ she called, wanting to ask for a minute. But when she turned, Freya was gone. ‘…’

***

She leaned her shoulder on the wall of Lune’s alleyway, her eyes closed and one hand gripped into a tight fist.

3 months… the words echoed inside her head. That was a month ago. Still zero clue on the curse she was carrying. As if her soul being pulled by Inconvenient Suicide Magic wasn’t troublesome enough, she had to deal with a curse that would kill her. To make matters worse, by happenstance of bad timing, her going to Malegonia to search for clues was hindered by the accursed… skystorm.

The storm will take 2 weeks to die down, Freya composed her thoughts. And the travel to Malegonia could take 2 weeks. I can’t afford to wait and waste a month. Freya opened her eyes and looked up to see the sky filled with looming clouds; casting shadows on Lune. What could she possibly do? Even if she was to steal a ship, if the skystorm was as terrifying as the sailors feared, she would die a ridiculous death to the storm instead of the curse, hastening her death.

Her situation looked bleak.

As the wind blew stronger, Freya could hear the following sound of rustling fabric. ‘She’ll make a good sacrifice,’ a burly voice said.

‘Seems like it,’ another voice agreed.

Freya looked to the source and saw two men wrapped in black raincoat, each carrying a spear. Both of them had tattoos inscribed on one side of their face. Those reminded Freya of Extinct Formulae Magic, but she knew that those inscriptions were just symbols. Their eyes were webbed with red and they appeared hostile. The firm expressions they had indicated that they weren’t joking.

‘You better—not,’ Freya warned. She didn’t feel like dealing with them at all. But despite her warning, the two men pointed their spears at her. Freya sighed; one hand touched her shoulder.

***

‘I keep telling you, Ray’ Ignes said, ‘that style doesn’t age well.’

Ray got his back on the ground, staring at the gray sky. The number of defeats he had earned had quite dulled the frustration, that couldn’t be good. Ray got back up, faking strength and rose up quickly, his hands barely holding on to the grip of the wooden sword. ‘Again,’ he demanded.

‘I refuse.’ Ignes tossed her wooden sword to the grass. She had this disinterested expression on her face.

‘Why?’ At some point, Ignes seemed to have decided that there was no need to wield 2 swords to spar against Ray. Had she found the spars between them a bore?

‘Know your limits, Ray,’ she scolded him. ‘It’s good that you’re putting the effort, but willpower doesn’t heal the wounds you have acquired.’

‘Reasons and excuses don’t make me a better swordsman.’

‘That’s true. But who is to say that taking some time off doesn’t make you a better swordsman? Sit down. Oh, stop giving me that look, we’re not going to waste the time. We’ll use it for your growth, just not by means of spar. Sit down.’

Reluctantly, Ray dropped down to the grass ground and sat down. Ignes sat opposite to him, confronting him in the eyes.

‘Give up on that style. It’s obsolete. Does all those defeats not convince you of abandoning it?’

This directness caught Ray by surprise. ‘It’s hard to.The person who used this style stripped Dunnford of his title. And this person had sparred more with me and continuously defeated me with this very style.’

‘You’re talking about your ally, Freya, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘How strong is she? Why don’t you tell me what about her using the style that captivates you so much?’

***

‘What she lacks in strength, she makes up with technique,’ Ray answered.

When the spear-stab was aimed at Freya’s head, she dodged the attack by tilting her head to the side. That minimal movement to avoid the high-speed stabbing made the dodge looked effortless. More stabs came, all of them seemed as if they almost hit her, but those blades had made no scratch on her.

Why were the 2 men searching for a sacrifice? Freya had no idea. Nor did she care. With the two of them facing Freya from only one side, running away was a possibility. She would have run away, for she would rather not be involved in pointless confrontations. However, for this occasion, she wasn’t feeling like running away.

‘Her movement is precise; and when she fights, it’s as if she has everything under her control.’

Freya tilted her head again to dodge a spear-stab. This time around, she walked forward as she did, closing the distance between her and one of the men. Her left hand reverse-gripped Celeste; and when he was within her range, she swung the sheathed Celeste on the man’s temple. The man fell to the ground and was knocked out cold.

This surprised the other man. He decided to take more caution against Freya and stopped stabbing with his spear carelessly.

Freya rotated Celeste, holding the sword like she normally would: pointed at the ground, held beside her waist. Only this time, since her right shoulder was still wounded and yet to heal, she held Celeste with her left hand.

The man looked at her stance with confusion.

‘At a glance, the form is counter-intuitive. It’s held down there, leaving one’s upper body open for attacks. So, when she could give a fight with the style, it’s as if she defies logic.’

Changing his approach, the man swung his spear. If stabbing didn’t work, then he should swing it. But he was fighting in an alleyway, and a horizontal swing was sealed by his surroundings. Leaving only a vertical swing from above.

Freya stepped to the side. She stepped in, wanting to close the range, but the man stepped back. He knew that his spear had the advantage against her as long as he was able to keep his range.

He let out a smirk, not knowing that what he did didn’t much matter.

Freya dashed without any fear. If the man made another vertical swing, Freya would reach him and strike him first. If he stabbed as a mean of preemptive measure, then Freya would dodge it like she did to all the stabs he and his accomplice had thrown. He did the latter by reflex. Freya dodged and swung Celeste, letting the man suffer the same outcome like his accomplice.

‘The style speaks for itself. She wins fights. And I’ve yet to see her lose.’ Rather than the style being obsolete like Ignes had told him, he believed it was more that he was still inadequate to wield the style.

The 2 men were down, the battle was supposed to be over, but there were more men coming from the alleyway. 5 men with similar tattoos, wearing a black raincoat. And they pointed their spears at Freya upon seeing their fallen comrades on the ground beside her feet.

She gestured with her right hand for them to come at her.

***

‘Then let’s make a deal,’ Ignes said. ‘Bring her here and I’ll have a spar with her. If she loses, then I want you to immediately abandon that obsolete style.’

A fight between Ignes and Freya was a fight that Ray would look forward seeing. But… ‘I don’t think she has any interest in going here.’

‘What is she interested in then?’

Ray tried recalling what Freya was last interested in. Only to remember that she was somewhat in a hurry to travel to Malegonia and he believed she was currently searching for a sea vessel. This, Ray told Ignes.

What he told her brought a smile on her face. ‘I might know how to lure her here.’ This piqued Ray’s curiosity.

Drip.

A raindrop fell from the sky. Ray wondered if it could be called raindrop.

‘I’ll tell you inside the sanctum.’ They retreated from the upcoming weather.

***

Drip… Drip…

As the wind blew harder, a drizzle of rain fell. Freya looked at the sky which seemed full of fear. Scared of the storm that could reach them. The skystorm.

On the ground inside the alleyway there laid 7 men. Why did they need a “sacrifice”? That question no longer mattered now that they were all unconscious.

‘Thank you,’ she said to the 7 unconscious men. It was unfair for her to fight against them, since she fought them mostly to let out her frustration, but self-defense would count as a legitimate excuse for her fight. Her head felt clearer after she had swung Celeste.

Her situation—of having found no sea vessel to Malegonia—looked bleak no matter how she perceived it. But just because it looked bleak, that did not mean that everything was over. She knew what she had to do now.

I’ll see the skystorm for myself, she thought.