Showered and changed, Sin came back to the dinner table in casual clothing; a plain white tee and a pair of grey dolphin shorts. I watched her as she came carrying a pencil pouch in one hand and a stack of books in another.

I didn’t need to be a genius to know what she was doing.

She sat opposite of me, placed her books on the side, picked one from the top and began work. She turned on the table fan to its lowest power, giving a mild, mechanical ambience to the setting. I had nothing but eyes to see and a mouth to keep shut, so I stayed silent and watched.

I never really studied in my whole life, aside from some simple arithmetic taught by Seargent when I was a young boy. As for language, I had to get accustomed to it by myself the hard way. Lieutenant would chew me out whenever I sent her a faulty report, and the thought of her booming voice would scare my illiteracy away. Fear was a great motivator, as I found myself reading in my downtime, not out of interest but to make sure that my next paper was comprehensible. I still couldn’t write an essay to save my life, but I could at least read one out and tell you what it meant.

What Sin was doing seemed like rocket science to me. I know numbers and words but never the combination of the two. Sin’s books were essentially pages of numbers and words put together in a way that seemed like a foreign language to me. If I squinted I could make out a few that I could pronounce but looking from afar, they were no more than alien symbols to my eyes. Sin, on the other hand, was speeding through the pages, giving no more than a glance before going to her notebook and scribbling out something equally as inscrutable to me. She did this at an incredible rate with a practised flair, so much so that watching her at work was impressive in its way, despite knowing next to nothing about her affairs.

I watched for what felt like both a minute and an hour. I suppose that I had been too obvious about it because Sin broke the silence at one point.

She glanced up towards me, "Never seen a book before?"

"Never read much," I kept my gaze at her notes.

"Try it," she picked one from the stack beside her and handed it to me, "You're gonna need it."

I brought it over to my side of the table and flipped through the pages. It was a history textbook, compiling almost every major event in the world in general detail. I scanned through the index. I was just curious to know what the outside world thought of my exploits. There was not one word giving notice to the wars I’ve been in. They never cared in the first place. I wasn’t surprised. Not even the armies bothered to even give the wars a name. Most of the time their motivations were boiled down to "they're at it again" spoken in a fed up, tired tone.

I thumbed through the index to see if anything interested me.

There was a topic discussing olden societies. More specifically, regarding the history of women and the effects coming from their sudden ability to manifest weapons. I decided to give it a read.

Close to a thousand years ago, men used to rule over women. The former's biological deposition gave them stronger bodies and physiques, while the latter were weaker with smaller frames. This extended to all species. From goblins to ogres to elves to humans to beastkins and many others; save for the dwarves, who were more or less the same across all sexes.

Both sexes had their advantages. Men could hunt and forage effectively while women were much better with organisation and caring for the young. The men used this to their benefit, however, and formed a society where women were second class to the men and essentially classified as equals with livestock. The dynamic varied among other species but this was the general idea.

Then, at the turn of the second millennium, women turned the tides.

They were bestowed weapons.

Until today, historians couldn't give a definitive explanation of how it happened. The phenomenon happened spontaneously around the world, and given records echoed across many different societies; women woke up one morning and found themselves able to summon weapons out of their will. Be it clubs, swords, daggers, maces or axes. They just could. Most were limited to a single weapon, but some could wield two. There were even cases of one being able to use different kinds of weapons at the same time.

The weapons themselves were seemingly omnipotent and indestructible. Even a small, inconspicuous blade could withstand the fiercest of flames and the weight of many horses. Not even the wielder herself could mould its shape. If willed so, the wielder can form a weapon in a solid object and replace its space. The object itself would have its occupied space vanish without a trace, with no hint of tamper aside from the obvious cavern left by the weapon. Many scams have happened over female merchants using this trick to their benefit.

Even so, the weapons still obeyed the laws of physics. They couldn't float in mid-air or walk on water unless their original property allowed it to be. There was no condition for the weapon to be manifested, as long as the wielder is conscious and willing. The opposite rang true too. They generally appeared on the wielder’s dominant hand, but trained professionals may be able to conjure them beyond their bodies. They also operated under a set range. These varied and may be extended with practice. If the wielder leaves the weapon’s range, it would disappear as if the wielder willed it to. Other than that, there was no set time limit, temperature, altitude, space; nothing.

The women had no choice in what weapon they were given, regardless of their upbringing. They may not even have seen nor heard of it before. A farmer with no prior experience in blacksmithing or combat training may be bestowed a war hammer she may only ever understand as a helpful wedge for her sliding wagon while a trained paladin serving directly under the king might end up with a small, bronze dagger to boot.

There were even cases where many women find themselves unable to wield their given weapon. These were mostly applied to children’s first experience with their weapons. Fate was an indiscriminate entity, gifting tools of destruction like a blind man tossing feeding seeds at a pack of dogs. Parents are to keep great care of their babies, otherwise, they may have an accident with their first weapon manifestation. It happens at any point, whether it's as early as their first few months in the cradle or as late as their sixth birthday. Either way, a great eye must be kept lest they swallow their garrote or suffocate under their broadsword.

Even so, the women took this miracle as an opportunity and struck back against their male counterparts. There were rare cases where some societies simply operated as usual, maintaining the status quo with a little mix of some women occupying masculine roles within the hierarchy. The general effect, however, was widespread cries for matriarchy. It wasn’t tipping the scale as much as it was flipping it and stomping it into the ground. Thus began an onslaught of countless miniature conflicts, ranging from village in-fighting to massive civil battles. Though the women gained the upper hand for an unlimited supply of weaponry, the men still had their strength and physical prowess. The results ended in favour of the women, though losses were spread fairly evenly throughout both sexes. The aftermath, however, lingered. Due to the sudden shift of dynamics, women began claiming an upper hand in social hierarchies. Though they weren’t organized, it was a sociological effect that came from various aspects including fear-mongering from the public and an increasing presence within armies and fighting forces. Its sociological ripples could still be felt today. Though the workforce, both physical and logistical, are evenly split among the sexes, surveys have resulted in a consensus that our world consists of a female-dominated society, as seen from the higher corporate positions or commanding ranks in the military which were mostly occupied by women.

There were many theories as to how these weapons came to be. Many proposals were given, but the main accepted cause drew parallels with old records. Research had discovered that weapon manifestation occurred in circular waves. These waves were traced back to a county residing in the middle eastern part of the world. After intensive cross-referencing and dating, it was believed that the effect had occurred during a mythical sapphic orgy involving six women of different species belonging to a royal harem. There are various statements regarding the participants of the orgy, but experts have confirmed the presence of at least one human, one beastkin that was most likely a centaur, one mermaid’s corpse, and several gnomes. It is said that after the fornication, a great beam of light emerged from the royal chambers shone its light in one big cross, spreading horizontally across the land. Records have gone on to state that any female touched by its rays would be blessed, along with her descendants, with divine protection in forms of personal weaponry. Beyond that, the various records detailing the event were considered inaccurate and impossible to pin down as several iterations of the same event relayed different details, with frequent contradictions among one another. There were no motivations, inciting incidents, or any more justification for the event whatsoever. It just happened, and such was the accepted theory for now.

As of now, the phenomenon persists with no change in the effect. It is worthy of note, however, that the weapons manifested will follow current inventions. As time passes, a manifested dagger would begin to show signs of modernizations, like a more ergonomic grip, or mechanics like folding pivots and, in some cases, appearing as a ballistic knife. Since then, women of age have been required to report on their given weapons to a respective government department. Audits are also conducted on weapons manufacturers around the world to gain a better expectation on what sort of weapon manifestation would appear in the future, and to make sure they create something within strict, civilian-safety guidelines.

That was as far as I could understand. There were probably a lot of fine details I combed over or misinterpreted, but such was written about the topic.

I let out a long yawn. The textbook bored me. Most were things I already knew in passing or simply didn’t care about. My interest had already waned by the second line. If someone had slapped nonsense somewhere within the paragraphs, I wouldn’t have noticed either way.

I quickly flipped through the other pages and scanned through their paragraphs. They were just as if not more boring as before. As such, I found my focus careening back towards Sin, as she sped through pens and highlighters, covering pages after pages of notes. She’d sometimes drop everything, go back a couple of pages, and cross-check her notes with her books.

I couldn’t tell she was studious from her appearance. I had a hunch she was more of the athletic kind, but as the old saying goes about books and covers, I had only ever seen her pretty face. It made me more intrigued. My hands were glazing through the pages of the history textbook but my attention was paid somewhere else. A charming young lady doing her best to climb the academic ladder. It felt like a relaxing sight to gaze at. Something to soothe sore eyes.

I was entranced, so much so that I forgot to be furtive.

Sin suddenly stopped her pen and glanced up towards me, “Got something you want to say?”

“How’d you know?”

“You were flipping through the footnotes page for five minutes. What is it?”

I had nothing of note I wanted to know about, but considering that Sin was offering, I figured I should take the chance. The time felt ripe anyway.

“Why’d you bring me home?”

She sighed, “You don't know when to quit, do you?”

“Rest assured, I’m staying here anyway. I just want to know.”

Sin tilted her head and rubbed her temple with her fingers, “Simple kindness is a thing, you know?”

“You’re already living tight, and now you’re letting a guy you’ve known for a day use your water, eat your food,” I tugged on Sin’s jersey’s sleeve “And wear your jacket.”

“Not enough for you?”

“More than enough, and I appreciate it, but I also want to sleep well at night,” I closed the history textbook sitting between us and pushed it away, “Confess, lie, whatever; give me a reason.”

Sin didn’t respond for a moment.

Then she closed her notebook and dragged it aside. She leaned over the table, rose over her chair and stared straight at me, “Take me with you.”

I had to blink a couple of times before conceding, “What?”

Her eyes burned with blazing enthusiasm. Her voice grew louder with every syllable uttered, “Get me out of here.”

“Hold on, hold on,” I held my palm out, “You’re scaring me.”

Sin’s lungs were gasping as if they were heaving tanks’ worth in and out of her body. Her chest was pushing her breasts against her shirt, fluttering the hem of her tee. Every breath she took was akin to a deep sigh.

“Calm down. I’m not going anywhere,” I put my hand down and pointed towards the pantry, “My clothes are in your washing machine. I’m effectively naked here. I don’t have money for food and water, much less for a roof. I don’t know anyone else here but you. I’ve got all night for you to jump on.”

Her shoulder began to fall. Her breathing fell quiet. She began to slip away from the table.

“Sit down. Good,” I directed towards the kitchen, “I’ll go get a drink. You want it?”

“No,” she waved it off, looking down to her legs “I’m fine.”

“Take me through that train of thought. Step by step. Give me the why’s and the what’s and the how’s. Provide details,” I reached out towards Sin, resting my elbows over the table as I lowered my head, glancing towards her from below, “Things you don’t want to say, leave it at the door, but make it clear for me. I want to know about it just as much as you.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, giving space and time for the girl.

“How was it,” she glanced back up, “Outside?”

“Define ‘outside’.”

“The world, damn it,” her eyebrows fluttered, “What was it like being there? Seeing stuff, making decisions, changing things around you…”

“Don’t think that’s a great question to ask towards someone like me,” though I made sure to clarify, “Not that I mind.”

She thought about it for a while, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry about that.”

Sin fell silent sooner than I expected. Her usual zeal was lost. What I saw before me was a girl defeated long before the game even started. She glanced towards her notebook, her prior intents wilting away like a dying flower.

I wrangled the conversation back to life, “I probably won’t give you a good answer. Not like I had a good frame of reference to jump off from. Still wanna hear it?”

She glanced back at me, the ember in her eyes slowly sparking back to life.

“Go on.”

“It sucks,” I poured my heart out, “Nothing ever stays the same. I never felt comfortable. Every conflict zone has its own cultures and rules. I could never adapt, and even if I did, it was time to move on to another place. I saw so many different things that everything just felt the same. Stagnancy would surprise me, and not in a good way. Change is normal. Stagnancy isn’t normal, and abnormality means that there’s something we don’t know about. If we knew about it and made a change the enemy would undo it to gain the upper hand. We had to fuck the other guy up faster than they could fuck us up. It’s less about who won and more about who lost the least in the end. I never left with more. There’s always something I lost behind. I just learned to lose less the next time around. Then I learned to never bring much with me, so I wouldn’t lose much, ever-”

Sin listened to my entire rant with utmost attention, contrary to my expectations. She stood her elbow on the table surface and rested her chin on her palms. Her dark, haloed pupils gazed at me with wonder as I went on with my tirade.

“-decisions don’t matter much either. It’s always a compromise. We gave a lot just to earn a little. My efforts would always be valued lower than their actual price. I didn’t have a choice, either. The bosses will always be more than happy to keep your payment, so you take it, or else someone desperate is gonna take it from you anyway and raise their funds, and that someone else may be the enemy one day. In the end, we took all the jobs, just so that our potential enemies wouldn’t have them. We can’t just up and kill our competitors first either. It’s a mutual agreement. I mean, it wouldn’t be good if everyone killed each other out of paranoia, right? So everyone keeps a pole between everyone else. If someone slights someone else, it gets settled on the field. Killing on the spot would just give you a reputation. Shows that you’re some barbarian with a short fuse. No one would trust you, which means that no one would hire you. You don't get paid, you go broke, you can’t feed yourself, you steal for food, and keep stealing until someone finds out and hits you on the back of the head and you die.

“Wait, where was I again? Right. It's terrible. I'd rather cut my arm off than go back."

Sin had all but one word as a response. It was a quick, short, succinct, "Wow."

I had to do a double-take, “Did you hear what I said?”

"Sounds like you had a challenging life."

"I know. I probably wouldn't add a 'wow' and some confetti at the end."

It wasn't offended as much as I was taken aback. I've met people, many of whom I've told the same story to. There were many iterations under various contexts but the reactions were more or less universal; they were either of sympathy, shock, or pity.

Sin's was the first time I've seen anyone come out of my words with amazement. I was the one to be surprised, this time around. It was to the point that I had to see the other side of the fence.

"So," I switched the focus to her, "It's your turn."

She kept her chin on her palms, but her pupils slid down to the table. I could see her thoughts churning from behind her gaze. From her expression, I had an inkling that she didn't like those thoughts. I heard a deep breath leak out from between her thin, sultry lips.

"I'm stuck here," she murmured, "There's nowhere to go."

I tried to break the cold air, "In this town? You can go anywhere."

Sin shot me a dirty look.

"I'm sorry."

“It's a dead-end no matter where you go. You either work at the post office, join the local force, or toil the fields. No one bothers to branch out. No one wants to,” she continued, "I don't know anyone out of this place. Nobody gets in by will either. My connections only go as far as the bus stop. School is no help either. The country's Board of Education barely recognises this place. The teachers we get are either borderline retirees or internship dumps."

"No scholarships? Grants? The stuff they give to the good kids?"

"Like I said," Sin sighed, "We barely get recognized anyway."

"You got a national syllabus, right?"

"It's not that easy. Who cares if you score in some no-name school in a farm town? Even if you're the best, no one knows your name. The colleges would rather take some regular graduates with a star establishment attached to their names."

"Gotta be some guys who made it, right?"

"Some," she drew up fingers, "Four, to be specific."

"See," I tried to cheer her up, "You got a chance."

"Three returned, penniless. Two of them are working on the farms now. The other one's homeless," then she glanced away, "Last one turned up dead. She wasn't even gone for a month."

I had nothing else to say. My words couldn't compete with firsthand witnesses and experience. For now, all I could do was chip my way past her mental mould with reassurance, “They’re only special cases-”

“Four times in a row?”

I wasn’t doing too good, “Means you got a higher chance of succeeding next.”

“Four times someone rode out of the village by themselves and four times they came back worse than before,” she nudged her head towards me, “What’s the constant?”

I threw a guess, “That they should’ve never come back?”

“That they should’ve left with a guide.”

I was stuck on her words for a moment, wondering where Sin was going with this. It took me half a minute to catch on.

“Oh, you sly-”

Sin didn’t respond. She only broke a crooked smile.

I wanted to retort, but I wasn’t the kind to take back his words when the going gets tough. I prefer to commit, but I will admit that this girl was making it hard for me to stick to my guns. Regardless, I held on, but only with gritted teeth.

“Fine,” I blew through my nose, “Have it your way. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m as homeless as that one you mentioned.”

Sin’s smile only grew deeper and more irritating, “Don’t you mean ‘vagabond’?”

I was losing myself to this girl of all people, and I don’t like it. She was grinning like tomorrow wouldn’t come. I let that annoyance go, however. At least she was smiling.

“Whatever,” I glanced away, “I’m not leaving here. Keep with your studies. Get a spot in a college. That’s your only ticket out of here, anyway.”

She put out a disappointing pout, “I could’ve asked the counsellor and get the same thing.”

“They repeat it for a reason.”

“You know,” Sin reached to her side and pulled her notebook back in front of her, “That was more or less the only reason why I brought you in.”

“Why, you’re gonna kick me out now?”

She thought about it for a while before shaking her head, “Nah. You ain’t half bad of a looker to keep around.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day.”

She stared at me in silence for a moment, resting her cheeks against her hands, pushing her freckles up into view, “Only fair that I return the favour.”

I smiled, “You’ll go far. Don’t worry.”

Sin picked up her pen and went back down to her notes, “Is that only to cheer me up?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, pulling the history textbook back to my side, “Depends on how hard you want to get out of here.”

“I have to get out of here,” she reiterated, “It’s do or die.”

“Then you’ll do fine,” I continued to flip through the footnotes, “Keep at it.”