The dark had enveloped the skies over Seynith for almost fifteen years. It was rumored to have resulted from the death of Cyrus Avette and his powerful companions, when they failed to defeat an unknown menace. But such were the stories which young Anya recognized as mere justification for why the soil struggled to grow food, or why the boys from her same orphanage were sent away to fight and die to keep the peace.

Anya was a Nexis raised in the First Rung of the Capital City. The girl had reddish golden hair which was cut in a neat line just below her shoulders and just above her brow. Her eyes were a dark blue, with an almost silver glow to them. And around her neck was a thin necklace holding a small violet magic crystal that had already been expended years ago. She lived as a caretaker to the chapel in which she grew up, dusting the floors and serving meals to the Sisters and young children. Her life on the surface was dull, simple, and yet retained a sense of purity which she otherwise would have lost long ago. But hardly anything could be taken at surface level any more, and Anya’s was no exemption.

The group founded by Cyrus Avette, the Heroes of One, had done many great things in the two years they existed. Despite that, they became the scapegoat when nobody else could comprehend what had gone wrong. Those who knew of the Hero Leader’s innocence, however, did not sit idly by as his name was squandered. They instead banded together to create a new group, known as the Hero’s Gauntlet. The Hero’s Gauntlet, much like their predecessors, focused on helping those who couldn’t help themselves. They became the law enforcement when the Third Rung all but shut its doors completely. And they kept the peace in the name of Cyrus Avette.

Anya had heard of them for many years. They had donated food and funds to her chapel since their foundation. And they always protected the chapel when trouble came stirring. Anya became an official member of the Hero’s Gauntlet at ten years old, and trained under one of the founding members, a prominent ex-Hero from many years in the past. After six years of nightly training, Anya grew to be prominent in the way of the sword. Her limber footing and clear mind allowed her to grasp even the more advanced techniques with relative ease. She was clearly shaping up to become one of the most capable members the Gauntlet had to offer. And yet her motive may have held another meaning, even if she wasn't immediately aware...

“Teacher... Teacher Hanselle...” said Anya.

It was a starless night in Seynith. But that was no different from any other. Anya sat on the old wooden floor beside her teacher’s chair. Her teacher rocked slowly back and forth. Her body was thinned with age, barely resembling herself from fifteen years prior.

Hanselle looked up at the girl. The old woman didn’t say anything, but evidently had opened herself up to listening by her body language.

“You knew Cyrus Avette... better than almost anyone else here, right?” asked Anya.

“Ye really are obsessed with him, ain’t ye,” Hanselle replied dully. “Yea, I s’pose. Least of anyone who’s alive today. Ol’ Abe woulda knew ‘im better, I’d wager.”

Abraham Leufgarde-Rosencrantz, the old leader for the disbanded Adventurers Guild, had passed away the year before last. Anya had grown to know him a little, but knew more of him from those who spoke of him. He was old, and surpassed all the odds when he died of natural causes due to his age. The one thing she did know of him directly was that he always swore he would die with a sword in his hand. He did exactly that, but in a much different way than he anticipated... instead opting to hold it sheathed over his chest as he disappeared from the mortal coil.

“Yes, I suppose he might have,” Anya nodded slowly.

“So? Yer question?”

“O-Oh, yes. I had meant to ask you... Did Cyrus have any children?”

“...Eh...? No, not that I can think of,” Hanselle replied.

“I never really spoke of this before, but...” Anya paused a moment. “I always knew I had some sort of connection to him... Something different, that he should have meant something to me. And I found out only weeks ago that... C-Cyrus Avette was the one who delivered me to the chapel all those years ago.”

Hanselle sat up in her seat. Her face didn’t show it, but she had clearly been intrigued by the thought.

“I did all the maths,” Anya continued. Her voice lightened in the matter of time between speaking. “If I used my approximate age as a starting point and base it off of when I was given to the chapel, then it would put my birth a few months before Cyrus Avette became the Hero Leader. And I would have been... c-conceived... nine months prior to that. Was... Was he ever close to a Nexis woman? One all the way back then?”

Hanselle leaned back once again in her chair. “Didn’t know ‘im all the way then. It’s possible... s’pose.”

“He has to be,” Anya replied, clasping her hands in her lap. “What else would this be? A connection this strong to a man I knew only briefly, as if in passing?”

Hanselle didn’t reply. At her age, the old woman was known for getting lost in thought, but that time alone was a different. It had about it a sense of pondering. And then of realization.

“—Of course then that brings up the question of who my mother was,” said Anya. “There can’t be too many Nexis out there at the moment. After all, even years ago they were but a small people. You don’t suppose—“

“A worthy heir...” Hanselle muttered to herself. It was quiet, but just loud enough that Anya was able to overhear it.

“Yes, Teacher?” she asked.

“...I s’pose blood dun’t matter much,” Hanselle said, again in hushed voice. She turned to Anya. “Got an eye fer what’s good. That’s what means somethin’. Fer who comes next. But...” Hanselle slowly arose to her feet, using the chair’s arms to push her the rest of the way up.

“Are you going somewhere, Teacher?” asked Anya, who leapt to her own stand.

“Jus’ over here,” Hanselle pointed. Along the end wall of the small room they stood in was a strangely wide cabinet that had laid untouched for years. Hanselle ran a withered finger along the crease until coming to a stop at a tarnished old keyhole. With her other hand she slowly reached for something in a side pocket, coming out with a key of similar size and wear as the hole. She inserted the key and gave it a quick twist before lifting the top.

“Teacher... What is...” Anya began.

“Ye probably know, but I forged that sword o’ his, way back when,” said Hanselle, looking down into the open box.

“The legendary blade Kenkui. With a... soul bind...” Anya paused. “Hanselle, this is not that very sword, is it?”

“Ain’t nothin ‘legendary’ bout it... An’ no, this ain’t it,” she replied. “‘Nother name for it’s a ‘blood charm.’ Know how a blood charm works?”

“...Only those whose blood is embedded in one can wield the weapon it is attached to, if I remember correctly,” Anya said. “Teacher, would this... tell me whether—“

“Whether yer related? Yea,” Hanselle nodded slowly. “I made ‘im this one as an upgrade. Had the charm put on’n everythin’. But said he liked his ol’ one better, he did. Too long fer his tastes.”

“What... what do I do?” asked Anya.

“If ye can grab it, then take a swing. Only if ye can grab it, that is.” Hanselle folded her arms.

Anya brought as much air into her lungs as she could before exhaling as she brought her hand into the weapon’s case.

The sword was extremely long, only a head shorter than she was. It was quite slim as well, and had somewhat of a curve to it that ended in a sharp point at the tip. The grip was black leather woven in an intricate pattern, and its pommel was a simple black metal bit at the end. Beside the sword sat it’s sheath, one of metal wrapped tightly in leather and inlaid with gold highlights in simple patterns running up and down. The sword itself seemed almost basic, however the meaning behind it meant more than the world.

“Well? Go on,” Hanselle waved.

As soon as Anya so much as touched the sword, an odd feeling immediately swept through her, originating where the tips of her fingers brushed it to the tips of her toes and up through her head. To her, it felt as if an entity had permeated her entire being, surging through her body as if searching her for something. And then the feeling retracted, receding back into the handle of the blade as quickly as it started. Her hand finished wrapping around it before she could register what had been done. She leapt back in surprise, but still held on to the sword when she did.

“Divines’ grace...” Hanselle muttered. “The little bird hatched a chick...”

Anya stared down at the blade in sheer bewilderment. It seemed as though that was the most she could do.

“I was... right...? H-He really was— I-I am the daughter of... Cyrus Avette...?” Anya sputtered. She began to tremble. All of a sudden, she found her legs unable to support her any more, and she collapsed to her knees with the sword in her lap.

“O-Oy!” Hanselle said, bending down.

“I-I’m just... w-well, I don’t know what I feel. H-Happy, I suppose. The happiest I’ve felt in a long while,” she said. She couldn’t help but smile and let out something of a laugh. She turned to Hanselle. “Is it right? To feel happiness for this...?”

Hanselle huffed and shrugged her shoulders, slowly bending down to sit on the floor in front of Anya.

“Don’t need no reason to feel happy, s’pose,” she replied. “But this— if that’s what ye feel, then it’s a feelin’ that’s welcome.”

“N-No, it’s not that. I mean—“ Anya paused. “I finally found out who my father is, and yet... I am realistically no closer than if I didn’t. He is still dead. Do I rejoice or grieve anew?”

“...Don’t have an answer to that,” Hanselle sighed. “‘Stead, maybe I’d—“

As Hanselle spoke, her voice began to sound garbled and distant to Anya. A grain fell over her vision as she was seemingly torn from her body. She felt nothing as she passed through the walls and began to hover somewhere outside the bounds of time. The scene continued, Hanselle talking to that version of herself, but now she was watching it as a spectator. The room was a box floating through oblivion, with near glasslike walls when looking in.

“Is this the memory you chose?” said a voice that echoed through the infinity.

Anya’s clouded head slowly began to recall her presence. She nodded, though not exactly clear to whom.

“And your reasons?” the voice asked.

“Because it is precious to me. I learned of my father. I received my very first— well, my only real sword. But also... it was the last time I ever saw my teacher.” Anya turned away from the boxed room and out into a faded white light coming from somewhere far away. “Now I bid you tell me. Why did you ask me to select a memory?”

The voice took a moment to respond. Anya waited.

“...A fickle thing, the memories of a mortal,” it finally said. “The body can still live, but if their memories are erased, then in every sense save physical, they are dead. Though, a husband whose wife has lost her memory will still try to love her. Does this mean that human relations are no deeper than the shells in which their memories reside?”

“Please, enough of this,” said Anya. “Why am I here? What happened to me? Have I died?”

“Death, undeath— how dissimilar are they?”

“Must I humor you until you feel like responding with anything other than a question of your own?”

“Or it is you who responds only in questions? Must I then continue to question until I am graced with an answer?”

“I respond with questions because I am well aware of how that you know more than I do,” she said. “I will answer one question of yours for each question you answer of mine.”

“Then I will ask first. How would you quantify one mortal life? By its memories? Or by its lifespan?”

“By the marriage between the two,” Anya answered.

“Would you elaborate on your response?”

“I answered your question, now please answer mine,” Anya replied. “What purpose did selecting a memory prove?”

“Very well. I had you select a memory to test a theory,” it said. “That theory was that you would choose based off of your limited knowledge and show precedence for only what you have in your mind.”

“What I— Do you mean I had to choose based off of more than my own memory?”

“My question still stands.”

Anya sighed. “A human life should be quantified by the marriage between its memory and lifespan. What I meant is that both the body and mind have their own distinctive experiences, though it is their unification which allows it to mean something, I suppose. Perhaps that answer is narrow-minded, but it is what I choose to believe.”

“Interesting... Now with that information, I will bring myself to answer your question.”

All of a sudden, Anya saw herself thrown backwards into the void. As she slowed to a stop, images began to flicker into existence right before her. More and more appeared of places and people she didn’t recognize until an entire wall flooded her vision.

“What... What are these?” Anya asked the disembodied voice.

“These are memories. The memories you could have selected.”

A single image blinked out on the wall and reappeared closer to Anya. It was from the perspective of a little girl eating something while riding on the shoulders of a dark-haired man. She still recognized none of it, but even so could feel the warmth the image brought.

“Does this memory not share the same weight as the one you selected? It, too, is a core memory,” said the voice.

“Perhaps to that little girl, the one memory I chose is meaningless. Same as how I feel of hers.”

The voice kept quiet for a moment. Anya’s eyes slowly drifted from one memory to another.

“It is impossible for anyone to see a memory which is not their own,” it said finally. “Not in its truest sense.”

“Then what are all these?” she asked.

“Memories. Just as you say.”

“But these memories aren’t my own. They can’t possibly be,” said Anya.

The images of unidentified memory abruptly blinked out. Anya turned towards the distant light only to see it expanding towards her. The light, as it approached began to more and more resemble a humanoid entity. But that entity soon split into two, one the image of a man and the other a shorter woman, both shaped of light. The man’s eyes were a glowing red, though Anya couldn’t see whether the woman’s were as well. The man stopped much further out, but the woman still continued closer. She approached until she stood immediately before Anya. By then, she had come to realize she and the woman were near the exact same height.

“You do not know her, but this young woman will be your guide from now on,” said the masculine figure. “Take the words spoken this day to heart. Ponder more what it means to be alive. A goal will soon show itself, but not until you have uncovered your greater strength. Empower your body and mind. So says I, Remnant Alpha, Corpse of Lord Omnis.”

Before Anya could utter another word from her lips, the female figure reached out and pressed an open hand to her chest. Anya immediately felt a cold sensation rush through her body. Chills began to run up and down her back. Pinpricks fell all across her body in a way that seemed to elicit the sensation of falling.

“...Hello...?” said a voice in the far distance.

Anya awoke to a start. The voice that had seemed so far away turned out to be no more than a few inches from her face, and they knocked heads in surprise. The girl, as it turned out to be, reeled back and began rubbing her forehead.

“Ow-ow— S-Sorry—!” the girl said, despite her pain.

“N-No, I should be the one to apologize,” Anya replied, shaking her head as she lifted herself up. As she gathered her senses, Anya found herself to be in a densely-wooded forest. At first, she had no recollection of how she had gotten there. But moments later, it all came flooding back, and a question popped into her head. “...Hold on... Are— Are you supposed to be my guide...?”

Looking to the girl, Anya saw nothing special. She was near exactly Anya’s height— in fact, she shared a good deal of similarities to her. Most notably, the girl was also a Nexis. Anya had never seen one other than herself. The girl was slim, and yet seemed to have slightly more... healthy proportions than she. One other thing Anya noticed was that the girl had a somewhat prominent scar under one eye. And speaking of her eyes... The girl bore a pair of pale white irises, which contrasted greatly to her dilated pupils.

“Me? Oh, yes... I suppose I am,” the girl replied. “My name is... It is... W-Well, I am not exactly sure who I am...”

“Th-Then you must at least know what you are supposed to be guiding me towards, yes?” Anya pleaded.

“To Cyrus Avette,” the girl responded.

“H-How is that possible? Cyrus Avette died fifteen years ago,” said Anya.

“The world you know has ceased to exist. I don’t know much, but what I do know is that...”

“...I see... the sky...” Anya muttered, suddenly alit with the realization as she glanced upwards. “...We really aren’t in my world. The air is so clean... B-But if not there, then... where have we found ourselves?”

“Sometime before the death of Cyrus Avette,” she replied. “There is something of mine he possesses. I can sense it resonating in his heart. Which means he is alive...”

“Alive—? Th-Then is that our—?”

“Is that our purpose? No, I’m afraid not... We would just get in his way as we are...”

“I don’t care. We have to find him. As soon as possible,” Anya interjected.

“Believe me,” the girl muttered, “there is no one on this world that wants to find him more than I do. But now is not the time.”

“Then you have not witnessed my resolve,” said Anya. “I need to find him now. What if he is even now only moments from death?”

“I would stake my life on this. Trust in the one who is your guide. Please.”

Anya grit her teeth and lowered her head.

“What must I do?” Anya asked.

“You must grow stronger.”

“Empower my body and mind... That is what that figure said...”

“Yes.”

“So I will train?”

“With the sword that lays at your feet. Yes.”

Anya looked down, and realizing her sword was lying there snatched it up and cradled it to her chest.

“You mentioned wanting to see him. Why is that...?” Anya asked.

“I... was close to him, or so I think...” the girl said. “My memory is fragmented, a piece of me here, a piece of me there... But whenever I look into a shard, any one of them... He is at the center.”

A few pieces seemed to click into place in Anya’s head, though she desperately wanted them not to be so. The girl knew Cyrus Avette in life. She was a Nexis, and on top of it the two of them had a striking similarity to each other. Anya didn’t want to make any assumptions, but then again— if Cyrus was alive, or if they had travelled to a time before his demise, then there was a chance that her mother would be uncovered as well.

“It’s strange...” the girl muttered. “The more I try to recall of him, the more a particular name is drawn forward... Nora. But... is it my name?”

“If so, it is a fitting name,” Anya nodded. “Regardless, it seems we have a heading, vague as it may be. We just need to grow stronger as we begin our search.”

“For him?”

“For the Hero Leader. For Cyrus Avette. Wherever he may be.”