I've never been to Cantha. My family left it long before I was born, shortly before Zhaitan's undead army made sea travel next to impossible. I guess it surprises no one that I consider myself Krytan before all else, my Canthan heritage only an afterthought. However, my grandfolks made sure that I know a thing or two about where we came from, even though for them Cantha was also not much more than a story told by their parents. Well, all right, for grandma it was much more than that. She searched far and wide for any scrap of info about the continent's history and culture, read any book she could put her hands on, questioned every lucky traveler who managed to survive the journey. I'm willing to bet my own left hand that if she lived long enough to meet Zephyrites she would do anything to board one of their airships and actually see the place she so longed for, even if she left it as a small child. Can't say I don't understand her fascination, I'm a researcher too - I guess it had to come from somewhere.

It was a family tradition of sorts - at least once a month grandma gathered me and my sisters in the evening and told us stories. Anything, from memories strictly connected to our family to tales of great heroes and epic battles. We loved it, too - she was a great storyteller. I still remember the passion in her voice as she described details of conflict between Luxon and Kurzick factions. And every time as she finished her story of the day, her eyes were fixed on a greatsword hanged on a wall. It was a family heirloom, a beautiful blade given to greatgrandfather for faithful service. And it almost didn't make it to Tyria. "Too big, too heavy" - grandma said. "Mother said we wouldn't need a sword anyway, it was supposed to be just a vacation trip, but father insisted. He was a soldier, you see, he always said he felt naked without a blade". Greatgrandfather's stubborness turned out for the better, as the ship our family chose for travel was one of the last to cross the sea.

For many years the sword remained on the wall - after my greatgrandpa retired there were no warriors left in the family. Grandma chose to live as seamstress, a profession she later passed on to momma, and grandpa earned a living by carpentry. Two generations later though, Belinda looked at the sword and with seriousness that only a nine-years-old can posses she declared that she wanted to be a knight. Momma wasn't exactly happy about this, she preferred her daughters to stay as far from fighting as possible - but by then it was quite obvious that Beli won't grow up to be a delicate flower momma wanted her to be. She was the most tomboyish of us all, always running around and getting into fights with other children. Momma was hesitant to encourage her, hoping that she might grow out of it, but in the end little girl's enthusiasm won. Momma let Beli hold the sword. Well, "hold" is a bit of exaggeration here - the thing was heavy and almost twice as high as Belinda, she could barely lift it from the ground. Yet her eyes gleamed with excitement and since that day she brought a wooden toy sword to all her childhood battles.

It took her nine years to achieve her dream. On the day she officially joined the Seraph, momma took the sword from its place on the wall and with a hint of tears in her eyes gave it to Belinda. "It's not just a decoration, you know, it's a decent blade" she said. "Your grandparents would be happy to see you wield it". Beli lost her speech for a moment - I don't think the idea of actually using the precious family heirloom ever crossed her mind before - but after a brief shock, she accepted the gift, waited just long enough to not seem impolite, and run outside to try out her new weapon. I still remember it. I could see all the hours she put into training in her movements. I could see how happy she was, how natural it felt to her. As she swung the sword, trying out various moves and techniques, it seemed as if the blade in her hands was completely weightless.

And yet when it hangs on my back it seems as heavy as Tyria itself. One of the Pact soldiers agreed to teach me some basics of sword fighting, but it's harder than I expected. My arms hurt, unaccustomed to such a heavy weapon. I was always more comfortable with daggers or small handaxes, but I know it's more than just that. The blade is heavy with memories. There's Cantha and grandma's longing. There's the whole childhood, Beli's and mine. There are countless hours of training in hope of achieving a dream. There's a body lying on the ground in Fort Salma, ribs crushed by the vines, all light gone from the eyes.

I practice for hours, going through the basics over and over again in some sort of trance until Kasmeer approaches me and demands I take a break. We eat dinner together, Kasmeer's voice filling the silence as she tells me news. I barely register her words though, still lost in thoughts. My sister's dead. I still haven't fully accepted this harsh truth. Some days are better than others, especially after the funeral… But there are also days like this, when I can't help but feel the weight of loss, when I get lost in memories. My thoughts come to Mendel, a young boy who died on my watch when I was still in Ministry Guard. Was it only two years ago? I used his weapons all this time, as a memento of the time I failed, but also the decision I made back then to leave the corrupted Guard and try to make a change on my own. I'm trying to recall if they felt as heavy when I first got them as Belinda's sword does now. How long did it take till I could wield them without a sting of guilt? Weeks? Months? Who am I kidding, I'm still not completely over his death. Great necromancer, indeed! I always knew that everyone has to die one day, ever since I was a child. And yet my gift for death magic, my knowledge of laws of life and death doesn't make it any easier. I hate to admit it, but I'm scared. I always wanted to protect innocent people. Once I believed I could do this while serving in Ministry Guard. After it proved to be untrue, I became a private detective, and for some time it worked, it truly worked! I helped defeat Scarlet, after all! We all saved countless lives during evacuation of Lion's Arch. But then my own sister dies and there's nothing I can do about it. My eyes stop for a second on Kasmeer's staff leaning against a wall and an unwelcome thought fills me with dread so cold that it makes me nauseous: how heavy her staff would be?

Kasmeer notices my discomfort. She reaches out for my hand with a look of concern clearly visible on her face. Somehow her touch makes me feel both better and closer to tears. I'm afraid that I'm going to fall apart any second now. But maybe I should? I tried so hard to be strong ever since Belinda's death and it's not getting any easier. Kasmeer was so patient, waiting for me to bring up the topic and just being there with her support and love. My throat feels dry and I hate myself for asking, but I can't do it on my own anymore.

"How did you deal with your father's death?"

She stays silent for a second and her eyes get serious. I know it's painful for her. I still remember her father's birthday, how hard she was crying. She was so cheerful just a minute ago, but now her voice is quiet and sad.

"Badly. At first I just cried my eyes out for a couple of days, - she sighs and shakes her head. - But then I decided that I can't really afford mourning, as I had to secure a source of income. It's a good thing I found you when I did. You helped a lot."

This takes me by surprise.

"I did? I didn't even know that your father died until couple of months later."

"Yes. But you gave me something to do, someone friendly to talk to and well… much more than that later on." A small smile appears on her face, though still laced with a hint of sadness.

"Does it ever get any easier?"

"I think it both does and doesn't. - She knows it's a non-answer and looks at me in apology. - My father will never come back and this fact will never stop to hurt. But time didn't stop just because I was in pain, right? I still had to eat, to find a place to sleep and so on. So I did all the things I had to do to survive and as the days passed, I learned to bear this pain, to make it less crippling. And Jory… - she squeezes my fingers gently. - You don't have to do it alone."

The love in her voice and eyes as she speaks the last words make it almost bearable.

Almost.

Kasmeer stands up, still holding my hand, and suggests catching some night rest. I follow her to the bedroom and find some comfort in the warmth of her skin, softness of her lips, in the way her chest rises with each breath. All the proofs that she's alive. She went through so much and yet survived it all. She's so strong, much stronger than she thinks. I wonder if I could survive all this without her. I'm not much of a religious person, but still I find myself praying silently for Gods to protect her.

And as I fall asleep, tired and with my arms aching from the day's exercises, a tiny part of me starts to believe that one day, with Kasmeer's help, my sister's sword will be a bit easier to bear.