Lu Sen nearly nodded off as the embers of her fire dimmed. The men and women in her charge had already done so, but no matter how much she managed to relax, sleep could not quite reach her. Perhaps it was the faint pink tinge the firelight had that only she could see; there was some part of herself that insisted on being tense while it was present, insisted on remaining awake. It compelled her to speak to the lonely ether.

“Did you sense them too?” Lu Sen murmured.

“Of course,” a whisper came back, brimming with a barely contained jubilation.

“I still don’t understand what’s so special about these people,” Lu Sen grumbled, tapping the wooden hilt of her katana against her shoulder, said hilt flush with the weapon’s scabbard, made of the same honey-coloured wood. She held it to her side lightly with one arm, slowly tilting it forward and letting it fall back against her with a sluggish tempo; tap… tap… tap…

“Oh, nothing, really— same as you.”

Tap… tap…

“Almost exactly like you, now that I think about it! Runaways of one sort or another.”

Tap. “I grow tired of this. Life at the shrine might’ve been simple, but at least it made sense.”

“Oh yes, what a wonderfully quaint little idea the shrines are! But… wouldn’t you rather put your training with your blade to practical use?”

Lu Sen smirked. “It always comes back to that, I guess. When this little mission is over, I should really get a more fitting set of clothes.” She inspected herself, looking down to the black lotus shoes on her feet and letting her eyes slowly drift up her body. The legs of her fiercely red hakama looked like a skirt with her legs together; the light of the fire glinted off the gold-embroidered sakura flowers that trailed up the outsides. Her upper half was still wrapped in the white kimono top of her shrineblade attire, but she now also donned an oversized jacket over that top, the same bright red as her hakama.

“I think hues of pink would look amazing on you, my faithful blade.”

Lu Sen let out a solitary chuckle. “Well, yes, you would.”

The runaway shrineblade glided upright, lifting one foot up out of the ditch of the camp and hauling herself up almost effortlessly onto the grassy earth; her black hair, tied in two thin ponytails, fell from her shoulders and reached down her back to her waist. She didn’t wander far; she just wanted to get a better look at the smoke in the distance. “They make very little effort to conceal themselves, despite almost certainly knowing who we are.”

“Maybe, on some level, they already know we know,” that disembodied voice replied.

“Perhaps. There are warriors among them.” Lu Sen’s grip on her magicked armament tightened. “Yes… this is why I left. I can feel it… the rising squall.”

“Yes… yes!” that jubilation was no longer contained. “Oh, this is what I love about you, my dear little Lu Sen! You’re so beautifully simple! You and your blade are as one! No questions, no doubt, just faith and bloodshed!”

“Yes…” Lu Sen exhaled. “Yes. I will test them, one by one. Even if I’ll never know why, it doesn’t matter; I will test them. If not one of them stands worthy, I will kill them all. For whatever cause it is you would have me test them, I don’t care; I am simply thankful for the test of my own mettle.”

“Spoken like a true warrior!” the voice cheered. “Though this paltry world will never recognise it, know that you are a worthy paladin, Lu Sen Enegawa.”

“Paladin…” to think such an exclusive title could ever grace her own name. Not in this world, but perhaps, one day, in another. “Thank you, my goddess. I know there are more worlds in the heavens than this one; I know your blessing has meaning somewhere… out there… beyond this frozen firmament.”

“If we live through this catastrophe, I will ensure you see those worlds.”

“If that is your wish, my goddess.” She didn’t draw her blade… but she did raise the hilt into her hand, holding it vertically between her heterochromatic eyes. “I simply wish to fulfil my reason for being.” Though the left was blue and the right was green, both of Lu Sen’s eyes shone with thin wisps of pink that night.

When she returned to camp, the voice had fallen silent, and the pink in the firelight was gone. Sleep finally took hold as she once again leaned herself against the ditch wall, her beloved blade beside her.