Chapter Four

Heart of the Matter

Laura seemed almost giddy as she counted the gold she'd earned the previous day for the umpteenth time. Shanoa stood a few feet away and watched the jeweler. Her arms fidgeted at her sides as she tried to combat the awkward feeling that took hold of her as she waited for Laura to finish.

"You don't really need to bring me along, do you? I could just stay here and read again," Shanoa said as her hands fiddled with the loose fabric on the front of her dress. The morning had consisted of a quick breakfast followed by a wardrobe change at Laura's insistence. The jeweler explained that they were going to run some errands and she thought that an outfit that concealed Shanoa's bandages would be more prudent. The dress Laura had chosen had long sleeves that covered the length of the warrior's arms, but the fabric was a bright color in contrast to the usual darker shades that Shanoa preferred.

"You have to come along. This expedition would be pointless without you." Laura gave her a beaming smile. "Besides, it'll be good for you to get out of the house and socialize."

"Socialize… right." Shanoa could not hide the dread in her voice.

"No one is going to bite you," Laura said with a chuckle, but paused when she saw Shanoa chew on her bottom lip. "You're acting way too jittery. Did something happen yesterday while I was in the shop?"

"It wasn't anything bad, just… Anna stopped by, and she told me something strange."

"Oh?" Laura tilted her head to one side. Her expression turned contemplative as she listened to Shanoa recount the conversation for her. "That girl has such a powerful natural attunement to magical planes. It's no wonder she gets possessed so easily."

"That's not what has me frightened, though."

"What do you mean?"

"As Anna bounded away she said." The warrior hesitated a moment. "Before I went into the castle she thought my face 'wasn't kind', but now she thinks that it is." Shanoa's fingers twisted the material of the dress as she felt the echo of that internal crack. "Something happened when she said that. Something chipped away inside me, and I can't figure out what it was." She looked up at Laura with uncertain eyes. "What if it happens again? I- I'm actually afraid of these people. It's so ridiculous, but I'm terrified of their gratitude. I can't pretend to be glad to hear it, because all it does is make me remember what I've been, what I've lost along the way, and all I want to do is forget." Laura moved to speak, but halted when Shanoa held up her hand. A harsh tremor ran through her body and the warrior braced her hand against the wall to keep herself upright.

"I want to forget, but I can't ignore it, can I? I could run to the ends of the Earth and it'd follow at my heels. So much happened inside that castle, Laura. Most of it is a blur – a haze of Glyphs and demonic gore – but the moments that mattered are seared inside my mind. It's funny, it's so hard to remember who I was before my mission, but I know it's not the person that these people are grateful to. They've only known a lie, and even now I wonder just what am I?" The warrior raised her shaking hands and looked down at her open palms. "Who is this Shanoa?"

"That's something you get to decide for yourself," Laura said in a steady voice. Shanoa gave her an incredulous look.

"How can one 'decide' what they are?" Everyone in Ecclesia – including her and Albus – had followed a given role as dictated by their elders. She was ordained as Ecclesia's Blade, but she had no say in the matter.

"A person's identity is reflected in the choices you make and the kind of life you lead," the jeweler said. "Both of those are within your power to decide. Why did you choose to go into that castle?"

"I didn't have a choice. If I had walked away at that moment then I would have doomed all of humanity." Shanoa's jaw set with rigid determination. "I couldn't do that even if I wanted to."

"Why not?" Something swirled behind Laura's eyes as the question made Shanoa pause.

"Because I am not Barlowe, at least that much is clear," she said after a moment. "I can't abide the extermination of innocent life, especially when it's within my power to prevent it." The warrior looked away with a sigh. "Though it feels more like an obligation than a choice."

"An obligation to whom: God, the world, Albus, or perhaps yourself?"

"I have an obligation to those that I have the means to protect." Shanoa's eyebrows knit together. "Perhaps that's why I helped the villagers, but an obligation is born out of a sense of duty. That trait was drilled into me. Adhering to duty is not a choice I make anymore. It's simply part of my nature."

"That may be, but duty requires something to be faithful to; an oath or a personal code, for example," the jeweler said. "Duty may be inherent in your personality, but it does not deprive you of the ability to choose what cause to which you devote said duty." Shanoa's eyes flicked back to her friend and she saw a small smile creep into the jeweler's expression.

"I've always tried to protect others…" Shanoa felt herself losing the debate, but she was not sure that was something to mourn.

"Has that left you wanting?"

"What do you mean?"

"Before that mess of a ritual, before you 'lost' your emotions, did you strive to protect others?" Shanoa's eyes widened as a memory flashed in her mind. The sight of Albus as he heaved crystallized blood onto the floor.

"You can't keep doing this! You'll destroy yourself! You can find other ways to become stronger. Let me be the one to bear Glyphs; that's my role."

"Yes, especially those I care about," the warrior whispered.

"Did anyone force you to protect them?" Shanoa was taken aback by the question.

"No! I…" The objection died on her lips. For a fleeting moment she grasped clarity. The walls of doubt and grief receded and Shanoa saw the true essence of her heart, but it was too much to bear. She cringed and buried her face in her hands in an effort to block it out of her mind. "Not yet! Not yet, not yet, not yet…" Shanoa bade the walls to return. They were the only ramparts that stood between her and utter ruin.

"What's wrong?" She heard Laura's concerned voice.

"I can't face myself. Not yet… not after what I've done…" Shanoa managed to choke out the words. The floorboards creaked under the force of movement and she was pulled into a firm embrace. Shanoa's body tensed at the sudden contact. She was not accustomed to physical displays of affection, but there was an undeniable comfort in being held.

"You won't have to face it alone," Laura said. "And you won't have to talk to the villagers all on your own either. I'll be right beside you the whole time, and if it becomes too much then just say the word." Shanoa was surprised by the sincerity in Laura's voice.

She means it.

"Then I'll go."

IXI

"Monica?" Shanoa made a pained sound as they stood in the street outside the seamstress' home. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"What's so bad about Monica?" Laura gave her a questioning look.

"She's just so... negative." The warrior frowned.

"The poor girl does tend to be overly hard on herself. She has been the entire time I've known her, which admittedly isn't very long, but it seems to be an ingrained habit," Laura said with a slight nod. The affirmation did nothing to quell Shanoa's concern.

"I can hardly face my own trifles, let alone listen to her-"

"However." The jeweler gave Shanoa an encouraging smile. "I think you'll be surprised by recent developments." Laura strode up the walkway to the front door before the younger woman could voice any further complaint. Shanoa groaned in defeat as she hurried to catch up to her friend. The jeweler only had to knock once before the door swung inward to reveal the timid seamstress. "That was fast." Monica blushed in response to Laura's teasing remark.

"Well I've been… I didn't know when you'd stop by and I wanted to be ready when you did. It didn't take me very long to-!" Monica squeaked as Shanoa poked her head out from behind Laura.

"I brought Shanoa with me," the jeweler said. "I figured it would be nice to see the finished product on a live model. It should also tell us if any adjustments need to be made."

"Oh, I- well, it should fit fine. I mean, I've made dresses for her before. By now I should know her measurements, but I could be wrong- oh, I shouldn't say that!" Monica winced. "It's so easy for me to scold myself. You should come in before I say something silly." The seamstress moved to the side to make enough space for her guests to pass through. She closed the door behind them once the pair was inside.

Monica had converted the front room of her small home into a workshop in order to make up for the fact that she did not have a store of her own. Shanoa gawked as she looked about the room; the once familiar empty space had been overtaken by a sea of vibrant fabrics. Rolls upon rolls of various materials dyed in a wide spectrum of colors had been arranged into piles of similar hues. The piles took up almost every inch of available floor space, but Monica had put some manner of order to the chaos. A path cut through the fabric stocks to the right side of the room where two mannequins, a table, and a sewing machine stood in the middle of a clearing. A line of finished dresses hung from a beam that spanned the length of the wall.

"Where did all this fabric come from?" Shanoa marveled at the vast assortment. Monica blushed once again, and Shanoa wondered if there was anything that didn't make the seamstress turn red.

"Well, I…" Monica looked away and chewed her bottom lip.

"You should tell her. After all, you did say that Shanoa was your 'inspiration'," Laura said with a wink. Shanoa's brow furrowed at the comment. How did I inspire her?

"I… met someone. I guess you could call him my business partner." Monica's face turned an even deeper shade of red.

"And he supplies you with fabric." Shanoa stated rather than asked. "Though I don't see what that has to do with me."

"Oh, it has everything to do with you!" The words burst out of Monica's mouth in a flurry. The seamstress cringed at her abrasiveness and cleared her throat before she continued. "After I made those cashmere dresses I was… upset. All I could think about was how I just sat here in my house and waited for you to bring me the fabric I needed. I didn't even try to help you find them; I just moped about until you showed up with the materials. I wouldn't have been able to create anything without your help. So I made a decision." Monica's eyes hardened with a resolve that shocked the warrior. "I… I want to be more like you, Shanoa. I don't want to have to rely on other people to do things for me. So I made a vow to find a way to get my own materials.

"A few merchants travel through Wygol as part of their trade route. I figured that the best way for me to get a steady supply of fabric was to arrange something with a merchant, but I was too afraid to approach any of them, as per usual." The seamstress frowned. "They're all such big, burly men, but I guess that isn't surprising since we're pretty deep in the Carpathians and you'd have to cut an imposing figure to safely… oh, and there I go babbling again." Monica shook her head with a slight smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I did manage to work up the courage to talk to one of them. He's only a few years older than I am, though he's not quite as humongous as the other merchants. I was still scared to talk to him at first, but I just reminded myself of my dream. I thought of how wonderful it would be to become independent – to stand on my own two feet – and I realized that I couldn't achieve any of that without taking some chances. So, I talked to him." Monica's blush threatened to spread across her entire body and she glanced abashedly down at her feet. Shanoa gave Laura a questioning look, but the jeweler only responded with a broad smile.

"I talked to him." Monica's voice held an air of continued disbelief at her accomplishment. She stared at the floor for a few moments before she popped back up with a huge grin plastered across her face. "That's right! I talked to him! Timid little Monica was able to talk to a man and it didn't end up being a catastrophe! I asked him – oh, his name is Timothy. I forgot to mention that. Anyway, I asked Timothy if he would be interested in helping me start a business. I showed him the dresses that I made for you, Shanoa, and he loved them. He actually thought they were gorgeous! He thinks that one day, after I make a name for myself, I could be making dresses for royalty. So Timothy agreed to help me by supplying the materials I need and then selling my finished dresses in the towns he visits along his trade route." Monica looked as if she was about to burst from her excitement and she made a sweeping gesture with her arms. "Now look at me! I've got all of this, and I've already sewn a number of dresses and it's… it's happening. It's really happening!"

Shanoa stared wide-eyed at the girl who – she realized – had undergone a metamorphosis. Monica, who kept herself locked up in a cage of self-doubt, had begun to emerge out of her shell.

Is this because of me? I only brought her materials because she could put what I would otherwise discard to good use, but it was so much more to her. It was so much more than I ever comprehended.

She felt another crack in the dam that kept her emotions at bay as she was forced to face an undeniable truth.

It's such a small thing; a tiny gesture, but it cultivated something enormous. There are so many little things that I never realized meant so much.

"Are you all right?" Shanoa felt a hand grip hers and she pulled herself out of the potentially dangerous line of thought. Laura and Monica looked at her with concern and the warrior wondered how much of her emotional turmoil had just played out in her expression. She looked down and noticed that it was Laura's hand entwined with her own; a fact that did not surprise her.

"For now." Shanoa nodded, but did not offer more of an explanation. Instead she tried to turn the conversation away from her personal woes. "You did bring me here for a specific purpose, right? You referenced a 'live model'. I assume you were talking about me?"

"Yes!" Monica clasped her hands together and bounded through the sea of fabric to the row of hanging dresses. She skimmed to the end of the line and removed a dress from its hanger. As the seamstress made her way back to her guests Shanoa's breath caught in her throat when she recognized the garment in Monica's hands.

"It's my dress," she said in disbelief. "You repaired it."

"Well." Monica frowned. "I didn't exactly… um…"

"The original dress was damaged beyond the point where it could be salvaged," Laura said. "I knew right away that it was a hopeless case, but you wore that dress so often it might as well have been grafted onto your skin. It's obviously important to you, and I didn't want to just throw it away. So I brought the dress to Monica and asked if she could make you a duplicate."

"I know it's not the same," Monica said once she regained her ability to form a coherent sentence. "But I did sew a few pieces of the original dress into this one. So, in a way, well… you'll still carry it with you." Shanoa reached out and touched the deep blue fabric of the familiar dress. She had forgotten to ask Laura what she had done with it, but the warrior never expected something like this.

"Thank you, both of you." Shanoa's voice wavered a bit with overwhelming gratitude.

"Now we need to make sure it fits properly." Monica handed Shanoa the dress and began rummaging through the clutter. "I know I have a stool here somewhere…"

"You can change in the next room," Laura said before she went to help in the search.

By the time Shanoa had switched outfits the dressmaker had found the wooden stool and cleared a large enough space in the center of the room for the trio to move about in. The warrior stood on top of the stool as Monica made a thorough inspection of her creation. Despite her recent advances in the social arena the girl was as picky as ever when it came to her craft and Shanoa's mind wandered as the inspection dragged on.

For some hitherto unknown reason she had been compelled to wear the dress throughout her mission. Though she had lost her memories Shanoa didn't take it off unless she had to. Instinct had dictated her actions in the past, but now recollection flowed back to her. Albus had given her the dress. It was the last birthday present she would ever receive from him.

"There's no back to it!" Shanoa gawked as she held up the offending garment. "How am I supposed to go out in public dressed like this?"

"It's not meant to be suggestive." Albus pointed an accusing finger at his sister when she frowned at him. "And stop making that face! The dress is tailored that way for legitimate combative purposes."

"Combat? You expect me to wear this during combat?" She gave him an incredulous look. "How is this flimsy thing supposed to protect me in a fight?"

"Well you'd wear some armor over it, but that's not what I'm getting at." Albus indicated to the tattoos on Shanoa's upper arms. "You absorb and summon Glyphs through the tattoos on your skin. I had this dress designed with that in mind. I've seen what happens when you train with heavy clothing or armor; it takes you longer to summon a Glyph. This dress could eliminate that problem because there isn't any material that could get between the tattoos and where the Glyph materializes." Shanoa glowered at his reasoning. He had a valid point, but she was not inclined to wear something so revealing.

"I still have my doubts."

"Then I'll make a bet with you," Albus said with a sly grin. "How about you go out and test my theory the next time you train? If I'm right then you have to wear the dress on every mission you're assigned to for at least a year."

"And what will happen if it doesn't work?" she asked. Albus paused for a moment as he mulled over the possibilities.

"Then I'll wear the dress."

Shanoa matched her brother's mischievous expression.

"You're on!"

"Just as I thought, I know your measurements by heart!" Monica's voice pulled Shanoa out of the memory. "You can step down now. I don't need to make any changes." The warrior hopped off the pedestal and stared down at herself as Laura paid the seamstress. The dress looked identical to original. Shanoa ran her fingers over the bow that tied above her collarbone; it felt just like the original. "So, what do you think?" Monica asked as Shanoa marveled at the garment. The warrior paused when she caught a glimpse of a dark mark on the edge of one of the ties that formed the bow. She held it up to get a closer look and her stomach flipped as she realized it was the faint remains of a blood stain.

Pieces of the original dress sewn in, just like she said.

"It's perfect."

IXI

A large bell clanged overhead as they entered the sweltering heat of the smithy. Shanoa was grateful for the loose covering of her signature dress as it helped to stave off the effects of the increased temperature. Laura, on the other hand, staggered against the wave of intense heat, but she attempted to pretend that the change didn't bother her to the extent that it clearly did. The jeweler slipped her standard ribbon out of its decorative placement in her hair and used it to tie her curls back in a ponytail.

"I always forget just how hot it is in here," Laura said with a grimace.

"Well it is a forge." The jeweler rolled her eyes at Shanoa's reminder, but the grin that formed on her face did not indicate annoyance.

"I make it a point to avoid spending time in stuffy environments. This heat wreaks havoc on my hair." Laura ran her fingers through her long curls as she made a quick assessment of its current state.

"What do you do if you need metalwork done for a piece of jewelry?"

"I usually work with metal that can easily be manipulated with tools, but if I need something that requires the use of a forge I discuss the matter with Eugen in the adjoined shop. Then I pick up the finished product at a later date. I don't ever have to step foot in here." Their conversation was cut short by the loud clash of metal striking against metal.

"We can talk business or you can let me get back to work." Eugen's gruff voice carried above the din made by his hammer. The blacksmith was hunched over his anvil on the other side of the smithy. His back was to the pair and he gave no indication that he had recognized their voices, though he may have only heard the clang of the bell. Shanoa had noticed during her previous visits that the aging blacksmith was partially deaf from years of working a raucous trade.

"It's Laura!" the jeweler shouted. "I'm here to pick up my order!" Eugen grunted and placed his hammer down on a ledge beside him. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow as he rose up to his full, impressive height. Eugen was well over six feet tall and towered above everyone in the small village.

"Did you bring someone else with you?" he asked with his back still to them.

"Yes." Shanoa responded before Laura could. The blacksmith turned around and studied the young woman with a strange look in his eyes. She gulped as a nervous knot formed in her stomach, but she could not determine why the look set her on edge. After a moment Eugen nodded and wiped his hands on the dirty apron that was tied around his waist.

"I put it in the shop. I know Laura doesn't like to spend her time around a blazing forge," he said and motioned towards a door on the right wall. The two women followed his lead and Laura sighed in relief as they exited the blistering heat and entered into the comparatively cool air of the adjoined shop.

Eugen's shop was an undisputable mess. A vast array of armor, tools, and weapons hung from hooks on the walls or were propped up on benches in a haphazard display. In stark contrast to Monica's workspace there was no order to the chaos, but Eugen navigated through the mess with a surprising familiarity. He seemed to know where every piece of merchandise was located. Shanoa concluded that, in some way, the disorganization made complete sense to the blacksmith. He stopped next to a bench that held a number of paper-wrapped items. Eugen moved various packages aside before he emerged with the piece he wanted. The blacksmith remained silent as he carried the package over to a table placed in the center of the room and the two women joined him beside the makeshift counter.

"I didn't realize the full extent of the damage when you brought the armor in. That being the case I'm going to have to charge you a bit more than I originally quoted." Eugen glanced down at the leather pouch that was slung at Laura's side. "I doubt what you have in there will cover it. It would be best if you went back home and got some more gold." The jeweler's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to object, but something in Eugen's gaze made her pause. The irritation melted from Laura's face and she nodded before she turned to comply with Eugen's suggestion. The warrior stared after her friend in confusion as she exited the shop.

What just happ-?

Shanoa cried out as Eugen slapped her upside the head. The blow wasn't hard enough to cause any pain, but the action startled her. She whirled around to face the blacksmith whose expression – she noted with annoyance – was as stoic as ever.

"What the hell was that for?" Shanoa asked as she rubbed the back of her head.

"I know what you were trying to do," he said in a scolding voice. Her brow furrowed at his cryptic response.

"I have no idea what-"

"Armor does not lie, Shanoa." The warrior was caught off guard when Eugen addressed her by name. He had never made a point to use it before. His eyes bore into her as she gaped at him. "You gave up." Shanoa's blood ran cold when she realized what he had referred to.

"… I…" She could only manage the singular word before concluding that any objection would be pointless and without merit. Shanoa frowned, but did not look away.

"You told me that you had 'no intention of dying'. You told me that in what I perceived at the time to be unwavering confidence, and yet you did not uphold that promise." Eugen ripped open the package and revealed the familiar armor that Shanoa had worn as she carved her way through Dracula's castle.

The blacksmith had made no attempt to repair the gnarled metal and a needling pain pierced Shanoa's gut as she realized the full extent of the damage it had incurred. By all rights she should be dead. The surface of the breastplate was twisted and scarred and it was only through the sheer integrity of the craftsmanship that she had survived the blows that were etched into the armor. Shanoa ran a shaking hand across the surface of the plate and hissed as she sliced open her index finger against a sharp piece of protruded metal.

"You're lucky that you only have those bandages to contend with." Eugen pointed to the cloth that encased both of her arms. "And you're damn lucky that you were wearing my armor." She winced as his words cut into her.

"Maybe I'm not so lucky…" she whispered as her grief managed to seep through her defenses. Eugen slapped her upside the head again; harder this time.

"No, you're lucky and blind. I thought that by now someone would have gotten even a sliver of sense through your thick skull, but you're still so goddamn blind. I may be a gruff old man, but even I can see what's happened to this village in recent months." His tone remained even, but he could not hide the emotion that rose up behind his eyes. "I've lived in Wygol since Father Nikolai first conceived the idea of a haven in the wilderness. I helped build every home and shop. I was here when every wandering soul stumbled into this village. I've shared my sweat with them, shared meals with them, fought with them, and forged a community with them. Yet up until six months ago this place was nothing but a gathering of broken spirits. For years we have lacked purpose; lacked someone who could tap into our potential and bring out the best in us. You found us imprisoned, in more ways than one, but you reached out to save us." Eugen's voice faltered slightly and he paused a moment to regain his composure.

"Everyone in this village has changed because of you, but you refuse to see it." He pointed a finger towards the front door of his shop. "Do you think that Laura is just helping you for the hell of it? That she took you in because she's some kind of Good Samaritan? I've known her for three years now and that woman's heart has been locked away tighter than a wild animal in a cage. She let a piece of it out for Monica and those kids, but never the true breadth of it. No, you're the only one who has managed to break through her defenses. Whatever you did, whatever you said, it changed her. It brought the real Laura out of hiding."

If anyone else had told her this Shanoa wouldn't have believed them. She would have scoffed at the notion of an introverted Laura, but this was Eugen. This man would not lie to her. Shanoa opened her mouth to speak, to say that she hadn't realized, but the words failed to form on her tongue. The blacksmith appeared to understand her in spite of Shanoa's silence.

"Ignorance is no excuse for what you did. You went into that castle with the blatant intent to throw your life away. You went back on your word, Shanoa. You fought without heart and without purpose. I craft armor for warriors, not suicidal children." He lifted the breastplate and held it between them. "So I'm not going to repair this armor for you, and I won't sell you another set. However, I will not discard it. I'm going to keep it with me, because while I know many ways to repair metal I know nothing of repairing souls. That subject is beyond my understanding. So I will leave that task up to those better equipped to handle such delicate material, and in the meantime I will wait. No matter how long it takes, I will wait until you have regained a purpose worthy of fighting for. Only then will I repair this armor, and when I do it will be but a shadow of its former self. I will craft the strongest metal in all of Europe, but not until you are able to wear my creation with the honor it deserves."

"Eugen…" Shanoa trembled with restrained emotion. Tears threatened to escape the corners of her eyes, but she somehow managed to hold them back. "I promise-" He cut her off with a shake of his head.

"I am a man who lets his actions speak for him. Let your actions do the same," he said. Shanoa's bottom lip quivered, but she nodded. Eugen grunted and started to re-wrap the armor in the crinkled brown paper. "Laura should be waiting for you outside. Tell her that she doesn't owe me anything."

Shanoa acted before she could catch herself. She lurched forward and embraced the blacksmith. It wasn't until Eugen stiffened against the unexpected contact that she realized what she had done, but she remained where she was. The blacksmith let her lean against him for a few moments before he cleared his throat and she backed away. Shanoa looked up at him, but he didn't meet her gaze. Eugen hesitated for a moment and then, slowly, reached out and patted her on the head. Before Shanoa could comment on the action he turned away, package in hand, and retreated back into his forge. The warrior stared after him for a moment, unsure of what she should do, before she decided it was best to reconvene with Laura.

The jeweler had waited just outside the smithy and looked up as Shanoa exited the shop. The warrior paused as she let the door swing shut behind her and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply and her lungs were filled with the prickling sensation of cool air as it swirled into the warmth of her chest. After a few moments her eyelids fluttered open and Shanoa turned to face her friend.

"Eugen wanted me to tell you that you don't owe him any payment," she said. Shanoa had expected to see confusion in Laura's expression, but instead she saw quiet understanding.

"I see," Laura said with a nod.

"He also told me…" Shanoa paused as she recalled how Eugen had formulated an excuse to ensure that the two of them spoke in private. Laura seemed to sense her dilemma.

"Eugen can see a person's strength, and sometimes he knows what a person needs to hear. I don't know what he said to you, but those words were meant for you and you alone." Laura gave her a warm smile. Another crack echoed in Shanoa's chest as she looked at her friend. There was genuine care in her expression, and something else; something deeper that she did not have the emotional understanding to identify.

But why does she care?

Laura had always gone out of her way to try and break through Shanoa's barriers, but what Eugen had just revealed…

"…that woman's heart has been locked away tighter than a wild animal in a cage."

Laura, what do you see in me that's worth saving?

IXI

Another feral roar tore loose from the chamber. The sound was accompanied by the crash of splintering wood as the woman continued to rampage throughout the fortress. Most of the west wing had been torn asunder in her guttural rage and sparks of residual Dark magic crackled and snapped in the air from the repeated incantation of Globus. She stood poised in the midst of the carnage. Bolts of deep purple energy flickered from her fingertips and cast an eerie glow upon the pallid skin that produced them. A small stream of blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth as she ground her teeth together in protest. She had used up too much of her mana too fast and she cursed her shaking body's need to recover.

"That bitch!" Crimson saliva flew out of her mouth with each word. The harsh syllables echoed off the walls of the chamber. "It was impossible! And now all of this is worthless; right down to the last fucking buttress!" She hurled two more globes of Dark fury. The spheres crashed into the bare marble of the wall and the stone cracked under the destructive force. They continued to ricochet about the room. The globes left their mark upon every surface they touched, but not once did the spheres return to strike the woman who first summoned them.

A series of violent coughs racked her lean frame and she fell to her knees as her diaphragm convulsed against her will. White spittle and blood speckled the floor beneath her as she retched. After considerable effort she was able to regain her composure and she sat back as the tremors receded.

"This is no good… I have a mission. It's too important to be compromised by a personal vendetta." The woman rose to her feet; her legs shook in protest, but did not buckle. There would be a proper time and place for her anger, but this was neither.

She moved to the large window that overlooked the expansive wilderness that lay beyond the stone walls. It was faint, but she could feel the pulse of the tether that connected her to her target. So long as the bond remained intact she would know exactly where the target was at all times, but this hunt required more finesse. She placed a pale hand against the glass and exhaled. The effectiveness of her eventual judgment relied on multiple factors. If she acted prematurely the end result would be insufficient given her target's crimes. She needed the means to observe without the threat of sudden emotional influxes.

The woman reached up and palmed the ring that hung from a chain around her neck. It had been entrusted to her should a situation such as this arise. She yanked the chain free and heard the faint clink as the broken links fell to the tiled floor. She held up the ring and studied it. The black metal had been fashioned into the shape of an ouroboros, though she failed to make the connection between the snake and the ring's nature. It had not been fed for years, but the ring still glowed with a faint crimson aura.

She steeled herself as she raised the ring to the appropriately named finger on her right hand. It was an effective tool, but she knew firsthand the price that the ring demanded in return for its use. She shook herself free of the memories and slipped the ouroboros onto the appendage.

A faint cry echoed in the room as a ring of spikes emerged from the snake's belly and pierced her flesh. She closed her eyes as the crimson aura flowed directly into her veins. The red glow illuminated the twisting passages beneath her skin. The aura pulsed as it traveled up her arm, across her chest, and then twisted around her heart at the apex of its voyage. Crimson light pumped in tandem with the muscle for a few quick beats before the light was pulled back into the ring that produced it.

The woman opened her eyes as the aura faded from within her. The moonlight played over the purple hue of her irises, but the fury that had raged there not a minute before had vanished. Now there was nothing in her eyes.

She was ready.

Her senses cleared as the apathy took hold of her heart. The ring would feast on her emotions, but she remained hungry for her prey. When the time was right she would give the ouroboros its payment and in turn feast upon a defeated soul.

Additional notes: there weren't many alterations in this chapter either. I was always pleased with Eugen's lecture and Monica's character growth. The biggest change was made to the opening conversation between Shanoa and Laura. I lengthened it to explore Shanoa's sense of duty and personal identity. I also had Laura challenge her whereas the jeweler didn't push in the original draft.

I also changed the mystery woman's Lightning Glyph to a Darkness Glyph to maintain continuity.