Knightly Encounter

The flowing blade stays raised between the two knights, its waters swelling violently beyond the bounds of its crystalline geometry. The eyes of its wielder are so hollowed that she could be mistaken for another of Caronte's in the tomb's dim lighting. Her stance seems at odds with the rest of her; the grip on her blade promises death, but the rest of her lacks any passion for the current moment. For his part, Sir does not flinch. His confidence in his new master seems unshakeable, even at the silent threat.

Then, she turns away and scoffs. "This binding — I've no interest."

She makes her way back into the corridor without a second glance. What a waste of time coming here has been. What she needed was a miracle, and all she had found was this... this wretch on a vain quest for glory. It was as if the Demon Lord himself had mettled in fate to play such a cruel trick on them both, for there was little she could do for him. No, she could no longer bear to promise the world to such a child. Not even a ruined one.

"Lady Knight, we are already bound. The pendant has chosen you!" Sir's raspy voice booms with conviction, drowning out the heavy footsteps trailing behind her own. "You would not have if it wasn't meant to be."

Indeed, the pendant is still clasped in her hand despite her rejection. Although she intended to leave him, the thought had never even crossed her mind to throw the damned thing away. Even now, as she stares at it, she can hardly fathom doing so. Perhaps it's because coming away empty-handed would be too much. Perhaps there is something in her shell that the object speaks to. Perhaps she's simply unable to muster the will required to cast it aside, a truth that provided all she did.

Still, she could draw on her specter in matters such as this. For both their sakes. "I beg you, child. If the name Marjukka is familiar to you, then you must know that she has died. This shade cannot even master herself, let alone others." Her previous harshness had been replaced with a gentler tone. It's close to the one she'd used to comfort others, but a note of desperation has entered. "If you know my shame not, spare me a little humiliation and leave."

"If it suits you, we may join sides only in battle, but destiny is not so easily cast aside. Can't you see it? Our kindred spirits both yearn to make up for the past." How shameful his roar makes her mewling sound; his certainty is grating, but what is worse is that she cannot refute his claim.

There is nothing that she would not give to see her Lady's killer brought low, and to see her again, she would slay a thousand Demon Lords. But it cannot be. Such a grave mistake will not be so easily undone. She stays silent for a long time, a wicked thought coming to mind: he, too, could be sacrificed at the altar of her guilt. Yes, if they both gave everything, they could find greater success than they would apart. It makes her sick. Her atonement would not be satisfied with the blood of others, no matter how eager they were for death. Too many had been lost already because of her weakness.

She turns to him, tears flowing down her cheeks, and finally speaks. "You know not what you say. Even as I am, I cannot allow you to engage in such a foolish quest." Despite her sorry state, her voice is no longer pleading but commanding. It carries the resoluteness that a knight of her Lady should. "But if a great blow is what you desire, then I might bear you to it."

"Excellent!" Sir lets out something like a chortle and motions to clasp his hand on Marjukka's shoulder, but it does not connect. The Depths have risen and punished him slightly for the attempt — a shallow cut in the bedrock. However, he does not find himself weakened by her will. No, power courses through him as he raises his sword in turn.

"You say you will die, but death is easy. Prove that you will live, that you will fight." Here, under the moonlight, her eyes have become full gems of the sea.

And so the waves crash against the stone. Again and again, she tests him and draws out yet more power, at once hoping to be proven wrong and hoping that he might falter here. Wishing that may bear her cross alone. But he weathers the storm and returns her assault with gusto. Every slash, thrust, kick, and bash burn brighter than the last. Yet brighter still they become for the journey ahead, for to pave the path to one's destiny takes no less courage than to defy it.