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Chapter Text

Mint was the last of the Fantomes. Not the last of ghosts- there were plenty of those in high hills and fey forests, but the last of the god cursed line Fantome. Her family's history was a long thing, going back to when the folk of their little town first rose against their godly kings and earned their curse. Their line would bear it proudly, as did hundreds upon hundreds of other families with as many curses.

The Fantome curse was a kind of unliving life. If the old stories held true, each of their lineage would forever be half dead, half alive, until the end of times. Or, not so much. The unleashing of the hells and the many wars before that had bled the Fantomes. Many marched with their fellows, few returned.

Mint was the first to bear the curse in her particular side of the family. Until her birth, wreathed in ghost fire, the stories of old Archabars marrying a farmers daughter had been discounted as wishful thinking and bar tales. But she was living proof of that legacy, ghost flame and all.

By the time Mint had been taken to one of the lines last holds, the eldest, and then second to last Fantome had left to campaign with the Ten Thousand in southern Phrygia.

Mint was left with an empty hold, a hundred wisp servants waiting on her, and the sword.

The sword. Atam, the Maker Sword, the last and greatest relic of her family. Once it was said to glow with ghostly fire, to cleave demons in two, to bathe in the blood of pretender gods and kings alike.

Now it sat in the family's reliquary, a dead hunk of steel and jewel. She’d been told that it would answer her call, that when she needed it it would glow once more. For thirteen years it had refused her, had lain silent.

It hadn’t bothered her at first. She didn’t need it yet, Mint reasoned, Atam would wake when it was ready.

So she trained with a mock, a longsword that matched its weight and length. Ten years of that, of learning to wield it with a shield, int two hands, with one. A thousand different styles and scenarios mastered.

Atam never woke. Not when brigands raided Far Depth and the garrisons had to be called to help, not when the Ten Thousand were broken at the battle of Blight. Not when news of the only other Fantome’s death reached them, after three years of worry.

She gave up on waking the sword after that. She kept to her training, sure, went through the motions of the old rituals, but she stopped believing that she would be the one to wield Atam.

It took another year before she gave up on even the training, preferring the leisure and study of the life of a scholar rather than the rigor of a squire. Mint had spend the last three years studying, crafting, living a life of luxury, Atam almost forgotten.

It would never be completely forgotten, not as long as it sat in the families reliquary. Mint passed it when she left, when she returned, a reminder of things undone.

It had one final task for her, one last call. When old cursed lineages died out, the great weapons and relics they bore were taken to Zanzabab, the Greatest of Cities. There, in the Great Reliquary, they waited for some new hero to claim them, to return them to their past glory. That was where Atam was destined to go.

It would be Mint’s duty to see it there, to walk it the long road between the Fantome Hold and Zanzabab. She’d need help. There was plenty of rough land between them- the hills between the hold and Fort Obsyr were rife with brigands and thieves who would love to relieve Mint of the burden of Atam.

Mint’s hand went to the letter, slipped into one of the long pockets of her robes. Help had come. She just had to get to the Bone Head.

Mint was sitting in front of Atam. The reliquary had always been a cold place, even with the fires of torches maintained by wisps. The stand that had once held the Suit of Gold was empty, the Bow of Twilight had been lost along with the eldest Fantome, four years ago. Quite like Mint, Atam was the last of the great relics of the Fantome’s. It sat alone, laid upon a sheet of silver, old runes and spells protecting it from interlopers and thieves.

“Do you hate me?” It was a foolish question to ask. Atam had no mouth, no eyes, no way to answer her. Mint still wondered. How many years had she spent staring at it, willing the sword to life. How many years had it stayed a dead chunk of metal?

She saw herself, reflected in the steel. The greens bleeding into white of her hair, the long robes and the travel clothes underneath. She did not look the noble heir, rather a tired traveler looking for a place to finally rest.

Perhaps that was what she was. No longer a Fantome, no longer an heir. Something else, something new.

She wrapped the sword in a burial shroud, meant for some long lost Fantome. It was emerald green, flowered with golden sigils. Atam had never had a sheath, always borne in the hands of its wielder. That would not be Mint. Instead, she wrapped twine around the cloth, a makeshift sling that would carry it from the hold down to Zanzabab.

Leaving the hold felt strange. She’d spent the last thirteen years there, even if they hadn’t all been happy, tortured by veteran warriors, mage-scholars, and a dozen others from the lands beyond. It had been home, and the wisps…

She would miss her little ghostly servants dearly. They haunted all of the old Fantome holds, eternal servants to a family that was on its last legs. They bid her farewell in their own strange ways, little balls of light dancing and swinging through the halls, each offering one final gift of ghostly light before she was gone.

Having the gate closed on her for the final time brought some focus to Mint. She looked to the hold one last time, a fortress of black stone and silver inlays, older than memory and stronger than gods, before she turned east. Her life there had come to an end.

Before her, there was a road, dirt and pebble. It led down to Little Eles. A farming town, a cheerful place, long used to the protections the Fantome Hold offered them.

She wondered how they would fare without a Fantome to ask for mediation- she had been drafted into that role one too many times, and had no intention on returning once Atam had been placed in the Great Reliquary.

Zanzabab was the Greatest of Cities for a reason, there was more learning there than anywhere else in the world. Mint would spend her life in thr city, most likely. Perhaps she would become a mage, or a scholar of a lost civilization. There were a thousand opportunities waiting for her, once her last duty had been completed.

The people knew she was leaving, though Mint did not know how. They must have seen the sword slung over her back, sure, but if that was their only warning, the speed in which they marshaled to send her off was impressive. They offered many things, jewels and food and blades, but Mint turned them away, save for a flask of fine red wine.

Beyond them was a long road that proceeded ever downward from the hills the Fantome Hold was perched upon. The lowlands started there, just beyond the borders of Little Eles.

Mint knew the road well. She’d spent her youth running up and down it. She’d had plenty of friends to harass then, playing games and dragging them on little adventures.

Once upon a time a circus had set up, just to its side. It was the traveling variety, they would put down roots, play shows until the money started to dry up, and move on again.

Mint had been fifteen when it had come, and she’d loved it. Partially because it was the wildest she’d ever seen, were-beasts juggling and a great manticore giving rides was something straight out of the stories she’d read. But there had been another reason, of one of the performers that had come with.

She’d been young then too, though when Mint asked she always got a cocky little smile and a “dunno.”

Doki had been her name. It took months to find out her family’s was ‘Bird.’

“What kind of a name is Bird?” Mint had asked.

“Bastard of a harpy.” Was Doki’s answer. Mint had known she was some part harpy. She didn’t have the wings of one, not even vestigial remnants, but there were feathers woven into her hair. In that age Doki had grown it long, her twin tails reaching down to her waist. She would throw them around for a bit of flare, a moment of triumph as she performed.

Her feathers had never matched them in length, instead growing thick and short, much of her hair hidden behind them. Doki had been branded the 'Wingless Harpy' by the circus, walking tightropes and leaping between great poles, erected without nets or ledges or anything that might save Doki from a falling, flailing end to her life in the circus.

“Doesn’t it worry you?” Mint had asked. All she got was a shrug in return.

Those days had been strange. Mint was trying to grow her hair out, even as the knights she was training under moaned about how much of a vulnerability it was. She’d enjoyed the way the green looked, radiating up her waves of hair, had imagined herself in a set of plate, green and white highlighting her form.

She’d never worn plate, though, and her trainers had been shifted for those more scholarly in time.

Before that, though, before Mint started to exercise her rights as the last of the Fantomes (notably the right to tell someone ‘no, i will not be doing that’) she’d gone on a final journey to Ironbreak Camp. It was a place of knightly training, nestled in the mountains just north of her hold. As the name implied, one was done at Ironbreak when they could shatter an iron cuirass with their hands alone. It was Mint’s third year going. Her right ring finger was still crooked from breaking it in the previous.

That was not what concerned Mint, though. Doki had told her about the whispers around the circus, the lack of paying patrons in those days. They had stayed near Little Eles longer than they had intended, weathering a biting winter there.

“I suppose it's time to move on,” Doki had told Mint.

“Will you be here when I get back?” Mint had asked. Doki didn’t know, even as Mint tried to extract a promise, even as her knightly guides were telling her they had to leave.

“Look, just… I’ll see you when we get back, okay?” Doki hadn’t responded.

When Mint returned, they were gone. Nothing but scraps of cloth and dead grass marking the space they had once been.

Mint wondered after Doki in the years that followed. Wondered if she’d finally taken that last fall, if she had left the circus life for something else. She would write letters occasionally, though she would never send them.

It wasn’t quite Doki who reached her first. Mint had heard of an old mercenary rolling into town, a veteran of the Phrygian Campaigns, one with feathers in her golden hair. Mint had hoped, had paid for her stay from far in her hold, and then she had waited. For a week, she wondered if it really was her, if Doki was sitting in the Bone Head ignoring her, if Mint had made some foolish mistake.

And then the letter had come. The handwriting was stilted, almost illegible, but it was Doki, after all these years. An invitation for lunch, a question about the rumors Doki had heard. Mint had been delaying the trip to Zanzabab for nearly a year by that point. It wasn’t fear, but reluctance. The last of her family's legacy, the last time she would be home in gods knew how long. Mint was none too eager to start that trip. But she’d taken Doki’s arrival as a sign. Perhaps it wouldn’t be quite so bad, perhaps she could take a little of her past with her.

Mint’s answers had been brief, most reduced to ‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’ They planned quickly- they had to. Doki had made it clear she was more of passing through, that she didn’t exactly have the money for a long stay. Minst hadn’t asked, had assured her that money wasn’t going to be a problem- one of the benefits of being the heir to a hero's legacy.

She planned to make the trip down to the Bone head, the first time she’d gone since she was nineteen and angry at the world. The first time leaving the confines of her hold and Little Eles in almost a year.

The walk to the Bone Head was an hours long thing. Mint would have taken a horse, if the Fantomes kept them. Alas the hold cared for few living things, and those it did were simple vegetables that even so were prone to blight.

As the sun crested and began its descent, Mint arrived at the least of taverns. It could barely sit ten people, and its menu was limited to a single ale and dried meats. It served as little more than a distraction to the elves that ran it, a tradition past down to them by their forefathers, from the days that it had served as a gathering point for many great adventurers.

They had left their mark, names carved into walls, preserved with spells as each made their mark upon the world. One of the heads of a great hydra was mounted against its back wall, the namesake of the tavern. As the stories went, its bones made up the foundations of the place, having been slain there by Azir the First Cursed.

Mint didn’t hold much stock in those stories, though she appreciated it as a place to go, especially as she got older and her tutors seemed more and more like obstacles to her living freely.

There was a wagon in front of the tavern. It was a cheap thing, and the horses pulling it looked to be more used to the plow than the road. It was the only sign of patrons of the tavern, and as Mint walked in, she realized it was, in fact, the only patron.

She barely recognized Doki. Her hair had been cut short, even the feathers snipped at, though nothing could stop them from flaring out. She wore hardened leathers, marked with the signs of battle and travel. Her arms were much the same, perhaps not as well muscled as Mint from her years of training, but lean, and with far more scars and marks than Mint had earned.

Mint didn’t freeze, not really. She leaned against the door, watching Doki. The half harpy was staring into the names carved on the wall, one hand flipping a knife in place, the other rubbing at one of her scars. She was thinking, though Mint could barely recognize it.

In their youth, Mint had known Doki’s looks, the way her eyes scrunched when she was trying to think big, the little smiles she got when she was plotting.

This person though… Mint supposed she should have known it wouldn’t be the same, that everything had changed. It had been years after all.

“You gonna stand there or order something,” One of the elves snapped her out of her musing- snapped Doki too, who turned, eyeing Mint once, eyes widening with recognition.

Mint refused the bartender before she joined Doki, sitting opposite of her carefully, as if afraid to break the silence.

“Hey,” Doki said. And that, that Mint knew. The voice, the smile. It had been years, but here was Doki, the same bird she had known all that time.

“Hey.”

Chapter Text

“Hey!” Doki turned to the bar before Mint could say anything else. “A drink for her.”

There was some grumbling from the elves, but they did bring a mug. Doki was still playing wither knife, throwing and catching it. Now, though, her eyes were on Mint, watching her take the first drink. She couldn't hold her laughter at the face Mint made. The drinks were awful, self brewed or bought a coin a barrel from some river merchant. Mint nearly spat what she drank back out at Doki for not warning her, though she swallowed it down as a point of pride after watching Doki drink her own.

“Good stuff, huh,” Doki asked.

“Asshole,” Mint said, grimacing against the taste.

“Yeah, see, if I had to taste it, so did you.” Doki was laughing. It was still infectious, still drew out the same laugh from Mint, even if the taste of the ale was clinging to the back of her tongue.

“It’s good to see you again,” Mint said, “can’t believe you got so tall.” Mint still remembered the days when she'd had an inch on Doki, remembered watching her catch up in height. It seemed she hadn't stopped, not until she was a full head taller than Mint.

“A good diet will do that to you,” Doki took a moment to stretch, head feathers flaring, making herself look even bigger than she was. “Better than the circus, at least.”

“You left it?”

“Of course,” Doki paused, “I guess you didn’t really see how it was after we left. Not exactly a stable career path, not with radios and operas coming to every city with money to throw around. There's a reason we came all the way out here, and it wasn’t because the forty odd people of Eles were paying well.”

“Oh,” Mint paused, “well, speaking of leaving.”

“You finally are?” Doki asked, "sword and all?"

"That's the plan."

“Sword is a bitch. Uh, no offense.” The last words were directed to the pommel sticking over Mint’s shoulder.

“I don’t think it can hear you,” Mint said, pressing back a laugh, however bitter. “But yeah. I’ve been waiting for the right moment too, I figured you coming along was as good as any I was going to get.”

“Zanzabab.” Doki said the name like she was considering it. Whatever she was thinking was not pleasant, Mint could see the frown and the way she looked away from Mint. “I’ve never actually been.”

“Oh, well,” Mint paused, “you know, I can be your tour guide. I’ve never been either, but I’ve read about the city. There's a thousand things to do and see and-”

“I’m not gonna go all the way with you, Mint.” Doki cut her off.

Mint’s train of thought screeched to a halt. “You’re not?” Mint was looking for the joke, though now Doki was doing her best to avoid Mint’s eyes, hand shifting between her drink and her scars and back again. “Why?”

“I- I’ve got some stuff. Things I need to do. I figured I’d come see you, before I do. Next job is going to…” Doki was thinking. Doki didn't think.

“You’re thinking about it.” Mint wasn’t going to accuse Doki, not after so many years apart. But she knew that voice, knew the way Doki had to stop and think before she spoke.

“Yeah, well, I learned to do some of that.” Doki’s wprds had an edge to them, though she tried to soften it with a laugh. “I’ve got something coming up, and I’m going to have to go south again. Far south. I figured I could tag along for most of your trip, maybe even get you in sight of the walls before I have to go.”

“Doki- look, I can pay you to be my guard, if thats it,” Mint said, “I’m the heir to four different castles.”

“It’s not.” Doki said quickly. “Look, I would like to go all the way with you, But I’m on a timer right now. I’ve got some things I have to do.”

“I…” Mint realized she didn’t really have anything she could say. If Doki was needed elsewhere, if she couldn’t join her all the way, there was precious little she could do about it. “Okay. But after you’re done, you can… you know, come visit?”

“Ah,” There was pain in that noise, almost longing. “Yeah, okay. I can try.” There wasn’t any belief in that answer, though, and conviction.

They were quiet for a long few moments, as both the women took drinks and suffered them down.

“I saw your wagon,” Mint said, breaking the stillness.

“Yeah, I picked that up at Muerva. Good horses too, they didn’t even flinch when I hitched them.” Doki said. “I figure we can take them along the old road, see if any brigands want to mess with us before we make it to Obsyr in two days. That’ll be good time.”

“Two days?” Mint’s brow furrowed. “Doki, we can just follow the roads that swing around the Lowlands, avoid all the bandits and whatever. Sure, It’ll take longer-”

“Mint, I don’t really have that much time.” Doki said.

“Not seven days to go around the forest?” Mint asked, incredulous. There was something in Doki’s eyes, a kind of fear and resignation that made Mint realize she didn’t have that much time. “Oh,” Mint tried not to let her sadness show. It had been years and they would only have a few days?

“Sorry, Mint,” Doki said, “I- I’d really like some more time, but I want to help you out with what I have.”

“Okay. Okay alright,” Mint made peace with that, as best she could. “I guess we’ll head through the Lowlands, then. Do you have anything besides that knife?”

“You have a sword, Mint,” Was Doki’s first answer. Mint balked at that, at the idea of using Atam. It would not answer her, she had not proven herself worthy of it. She would not even try weilding it. Doki's second was from her hip, revealed after she saw Mint's grimace. It was a black powder weapon, compact and deadly.

“Revolver,” Doki said, demonstrating how it opened, spinning it in hand. “Good fucking weapon. Saved my life more than a few times.”

Mint had heard of black powder, how unreliable, how dangerous it was. In Doki’s hands, though, it only looked the latter. Something ready to strike, held with the easy confidence of a veteran.

“You haven'tworked a regular job in a long time, huh?” MInt asked. Black poweder was used by only a select few. Some of the larger mercenary companies, theives and raiders who couldnt afford to keep mages on the payroll, maybe some of the fronteir guards. Doki certainly hadn’t earned a silvered dagger and a revolver working for regular folk.

“Not for a long, long time.” Doki lifted her left sleeve, revealing a patchwork of scars, and underneath them, the brand of Ausur. “Had some real interesting jobs in my time.”

“You stole in Ausur?” Mint asked, eyes wide, “you… you’re lucky they let you keep your hands.”

“Oh, they tried,” Doki’s laugh seemed so easy for someone talking about being permanently crippled. “I wasn’t exactly a cooperative prisoner. Got the fuck out of that city after that.”

“And… what, kept being a criminal?”

“I was an artist.” Doki said. Mint could hear the touch of offense in her voice, “look, you may not realize it, but there is an art to heists. Getting in and out, grabbing everything you could,” There was wistfulness in her voice, “man, I’d like to get back to it.”

“Are you serious?”

Doki paused, looking to Mint, then glancing around the bar, “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not. Not like I can. Not like I did, by the way. I got picked up by a mercenary troupe.”

“As a thief?”

“As a runner, actually.” Doki said, “I might be taller than you, but that’s not exactly a high bar. I was small enough to go unnoticed in most places, especially on a battlefield. Most folk focused on the longswords or the rifles. Very few looked at the girl running orders between positions.”

Mint resisted the urge to call her an asshole. “Asshole,” or, she almost stopped herself, though Doki’s laugh made her glad she didn't, “so, what, that standard equipment for a runner?”

“Oh, no. I got myself a rifle before we were done. Got my sidearm then. Second Rifles, A company. I was a damn good shot too.” Doki said. There was the same pride in her voice as when she’d talked about the ‘art’ of thievery.

“That is a lot of black powder for mercenaries.” Mint said, running through the companies she knew.

Doki solved that for her, holding her knife out. On its blade there were words inlaid in silver. Does it bleed?

“The Ten Thousand?” Mint paused, “I didn’t realize…” Mint paused, wondering how to word what she was saying. The rumor had been that they had broken during the Battle of Blight, turning and running from a force nearly double their size.

“Yeah.” Doki grimaced as she spoke, “we didn’t break, though. I've heard that one too many times. We fought to the fucking end.”

Mint let her continue- Doki clearly was going to. “Whole companies got overrun, but we did not fucking break. Fought all the way to the reserves, reformed our swords…” She sighed. “Whatever. It was a good fight. I was lucky to make it out.”

“I’m glad you did,” Mint said.

Doki looked like she wanted to say something, then thought better of it. “Yeah, well, lets finish our drinks and get moving, huh?”

Mint really didn’t want to, but she certainly wasn’t going to let Doki have the fun of poking at her for not being able to drink the swill. They both finished their ales with plenty of grimaces and pauses to recover from the taste.

“Your drinks are shit,” Doki paid in Phrygian crowns, not bothering to wait or see if the elves would protest. They didn’t, waving both of them off without another word.

It had been ages since Mint had traveled by wagon, though she was glad Doki had gotten one. It would be safety at night, and meant they could carry finer foods rather than rely on foraging.

‘Finer foods’ was a bit of a stretch, though, Doki had bought travel biscuits and dried meat, and not much more. “What,“ Doki asked when she saw Mint’s look, “listen, it keeps well. And it came with the wagon. Double win.”

Mint rolled her eyes. “We are buying better food when we get the chance.” She said.

“Be my guest.”

They rolled on after that. The edges of the wagon were uncomfortable, either digging into Mint’s leg or forcing her to dangle one off of the side.

Her solution was to slide towards the middle, into Doki.

“Should I move?” Doki asked, a laugh and a nudge following her question. Doki had the reins, sure, but she had not had to direct the horses in a very long time.

“Just trying to get comfortable,” was Mint’s reply, though she did repay Doki’s elbowing in kind.

“What was it like,” It was a long time before Mint asked the question.

“What?”

“Being out there. The Ten Thousand. Anything really.” Mint asked. “I haven’t… I never really left.”

Doki took a moment to think, one hand going from the rings to rest on her leg.

“It was… It was fun, for a time.” Doki said. “There was always something to do, somewhere to go. I was in the Ten Thousand for three years. Those first two… It felt good. Easy enough job, good money, always celebrated wherever we went. But that final Phrygian campaign…”

Doki paused, considering her words, “we were fighting demons. That’s what Blight, that whole damn year was. Every day, every hour, there would always be something. Poisons or burning rain or an army falling out of the sky to rip you in half.”

“I was supposed to be a runner for another two years, then switch to one of the reserve companies, get some hours and training in.” She took a moment to remember, Mint could see her counting out taps against her thigh, “It took three months for me to get moved to A company. That’s a frontline unit, mind you. But it was demons, not like we really had a choice. By then we were already trying to fight our way out- had a Fantome with us.”

“Really?” The second to last. Mint had never heard tales of their fate.

“Yeah,” Doki said, “knightly sort. Did you know him?”

“He started campaigning before I came to the hold.” Mint said, “I never even met him.”

“Shame.” Doki said. “He was a good soldier. By the time we linked up with him, it wasn’t even a campaign anymore, we were just trying to make it to the southern forts. Hornhall or the Marcher. Just trying to get the fuck out.”

“And you did?”

“Not really. We got caught in a valley, had to fight our way out.” Doki paused, “Battle of Blight. We fought to the last, at least. Took as many demons with us as we could.”

“But you made it out?”

“Yeah.” Doki said, “I guess I did. Made my way back to the forts, started heading north. Figured I’d swing by before…”

“Before what?”

“Before whatever comes next.” Doki said. “How’s the sword? Still an ass?”

Mint thought about pressing Doki for more, needling her until Doki told her something about why she had to leave Mint somewhere on the road to Zanzabab. Instead, she pulled Atam off of her back, laying it out across her knees. “Well?” She asked it. As always, it did not answer.

“Bitch,” Doki had never liked the sword. Mint didn’t even know if she’d seen it, the scant few times it had been brought to one of the local shrines. But it had always been something Mint complained about, something she’d worried about, and that had rubbed off on Doki. Though instead of fear or doubt, it had been a seething sort of anger. One she held on to, clearly.

“It’s not the sword's fault,” Mint tried.

“It sure as hell isn't your fault.” Doki was quick to counter.

“I- I guess I’m just… not needed for it. Someone else will come along.”

“Mint.” Doki paused for a moment. Mint could feel her working through a dozen different things to say. Mint had heard most of them in her time, had watched her rage at her employers, other children, a thousand things. But never at her, and that still held true. “Did you ever try following my advice?”

“Hitting it with a hammer?” It had been one of Doki’s last suggestions, before time and circumstance had pulled them apart. “No, can’t say I have.”

“Maybe before you get to Zanzabab you should.” Doki said, “might make you feel better.”

“Maybe I will.” Mint said, even knowing she wouldn’t.

"What about the rest of it?"

Mint had to think. Doki had given her many peices of advise over the years, most of it just as useful as the suggestion to take a hammer to Atam.

"Well, I kept learning," Mint said, "Didn't quite fire everyone and live off the coffers. But I did stop going to Ironbreak after you left."

"Yeah," Doki's hand reached for Mint's a moment, before she thought the better of it. MInt remembered how angry Doki had been, seeing her broken finger. "Glad you left them. What a stupid camp."

There were other bits of advice, some Mint remembered, some Doki reminded her of. They rode on like that, going over her advice, Mint asking Doki if she remembered anything from the old books they used to read together. They laughed their way through the past as they rode. The sun rose and set around them, its final edges giving them the last light they would use to set their camp. Doki had brought them bedrolls, and the back of the wagon was just long enough for them to be laid out and curled on top of.

They wound up facing each other, pressing against the walls of their wagon to avoid the cold wind blowing over them.

“Doki,” Mint paused, “thanks for coming with me.”

“I wouldn’t have left you out to dry, Mint.” Doki said, “even if, you know. I kinda have to midway though. But I’ll get you through the hard parts."

Mint reached out a hand, one Doki took, halfway between them. It was such a strange thing, to feel the Harpy’s odd three part heartbeat again, to know her warmth for the first time since they’d hiked the Alteau alone.

“Goodnight, Mint.” Doki said, though she didn’t let go of her hand.

“Goodnight, Doki.”

Chapter Text

The Lowlands were not a pretty place. The main road through them had long been neglected, its cobbles dislodged by rain and wind or taken to build little hideaways and cottages. What was left was a muddy track, weeds and young trees encroaching on its edge.

They were not enough to stop the wagon, and without the ruts that came from frequent use, it was almost a nice bit of road to be traveling on.

It would have been, without the rest of the path. It was not just the muddy line through the trees, but the little clearings that had been cut as rest spots. Once, they had served the merchants traveling up from Zanzabab, offering precious hours of rest on the long road. That had been before the west way, before the Lowlands had been left to wither. Now, these little clearings played host to a very different thing. Shallow graves, some marked with the runes, some left to make the great crossing alone, littered them. The trees often had gouges and chips taken out of them, signs of old battles for the road, places steel had met steel.

Mint tried paying them no mind- some of those graves were older than her, and others had been raided by whatever beasts called the Lowland Woods home, feasting on the flesh of man. She could do nothing for them- she did not even know the rites of passing for those unmarked, or mending for those that had been eaten.

Doki was better at ignoring them, eyes more focused on the shadows ahead and the trees above than what they were passing.

“What do you think,” Doki asked, “will they wait for nighttime, or are we going to get robbed in broad daylight?”

“Are… ‘they’ here?” Mint asked, now following Doki’s habit of keeping her eyes forwards, looking for a hidden blade or eyes in the trees.

“Nah,” Doki laughed at Mint’s sudden focus, and then again as the half ghost shoved her, “I mean, we’ve been noticed, of course. Someone is waiting for us somewhere. It just depends on where.”

“We have?” That did not do much to help Mint’s paranoia.

“Oh, yeah,” Doki looked between the trees and the road ahead of them, “forest was waaay to quiet a while back, someone was definitely there.”

“A warning would’ve been nice,” was Mint’s reply. She was trying to settle herself, to focus on the horses and the path rather than jumping at shadows. Doki would warn her. Hopefully.

“So?” Doki prompted, “What do you think? Ambush or plain highway robbery.”

Mint had to pause to consider it. Sure, her knowledge of both was limited to the books she had read, but surely that was enough. “It depends on what they think we have,” Mint said, eyeing Doki, waiting for a reaction.

“They probably think we’re poor as shit. Running grain up to someone in Obsyr of the little markets beyond.” Doki said.

“Probably just a good ol stabbing, then,” Mint said, “if they bother with us at all.”

“Yeah,” Doki took a moment to draw her revolver, “cover your ears.”

Doki waited for Mint before she fired upwards, her bullet lost to the sky above.

“What was that for?” Mint asked, once the roar of black powder left them.

“It’ll give them pause, at least,” Doki said, “farmers don’t walk around with powder weapons. Hopefully it’ll turn a nice little stabbing into a regular robery. I’ll fork over some crowns to get them out of the way.”

Perhaps it had scared their would be attackers away, if there were any at all. Doki and Mint were left unmolested, traveling the road. They occupied their time with little stories. Doki told Mint of the rifling she’d watched, the art of crafting tubes of metal into the barrels of rifles.

“What about the sword?” Doki asked.

“What?”

“You know, the sword. All those old relics have stories about ‘em. What, was it pulled out of a god king? Cooled in the blood of a dragon,” Doki had pulled one of her prizes out from the wagon- a flagon of the ale from the tavern they had left the day prior. She took a long drink before Mint could answer.

Once upon a time, the history of Atam had been drilled into her. She could have recited it at will, before she and Doki had been separated.

These days, thoug, “Uh, right.” Mint had to stop and think for even the basics, “Atam, the Maker Sword. It was stolen, in the age of reclamation,” the days of yore, when the armies of the gods had seemed poised to retake the whole of their old domains. Even Great Zanzabab had fallen and been burned.

Mint pulled the sword from her back, though she did not draw it from its cloth sheath. “It was passed between a handful of warriors before it settled with the first Fantome.”

“Didn’t they lose like… both their arms at some point?” Doki was looking at the sword too, though with far less reverence, “I kinda remember that story.”

“Jesseryn the Third, first of the Fantomes to bear the curse,” Mint said, “it was said that no wound was too great for Atam to heal, no limb lost it couldn’t Make.”

“Nice fucking sword,” Doki paused, “You sure you don't want to try it out, not even once?”

Mint was silent for a long few moments, thinking back to nights with the sword in her lap, thinking of days alone swinging it, begging for something from the blade. “My time with it is passed,” She said, “Atam has made that clear.”

Doki didn’t try to push her any further, for which Mint was thankful. The two could hear the sound of rushing water ahead, and Doki seemingly turned to that. Mint could see the tension in her, the was one hand never stayed far from her revolver.

“You think they’re close?” Mint asked quietly. Doki barely spared her a glance, though she did respond. “Rushing water, trees on both sides… if we were going to be ambushed, it would be here. Cover and noise to distract us with, and an easy place to get rid of us.”

Doki did not stop them, though, and soon enough the road was along the river they had heard. The Quine, it was called. The river was a fast thing, if narrow. It was the last of the small rivers of the Lowlands, leading from the northern Mountains of Gulch down towards the Great Rush. There were few bridges across it, most preferred to follow its current by boat, or take the ferry just where it met the Rush.

There was only one close to them, a rickety old thing, one of the few still maintained, thanks to a few hardened farmers and the brigands who saw it as funneling potential targets to them.

“There’ll be someone on the bridge,” Doki had settled as they followed the river. The road sat on a high hill above it, avoiding the erosion and water spray of the Quine. “I guarantee it. They’ll ask for a toll.”

“And we’ll pay?”

“A few crowns to keep moving is well worth it.” Doki paused, glancing between Atam and the road ahead. “Hopefully not too much.”

Doki had been right. There was a single man, dressed not quite in fineries, but not in the tatters that brigands usually preferred. His clothes were patched and worn, but they were whole, and he stood with his sword sheathed on the bridge, watching their wagon approach.

Mint’s eyes were not on him, but the little shrubs and high grasses around. She had seen some of them move against the wind, knew there were hidden eyes inside.

“See those trees?” Doki whispered to Mint. The forest had been dying around them, reduced to little clumps of young wood and shrubs. There were still some around, and just to their side was a stand of some dozen trees, older perhaps than most, thick enough to take two men to chop. They would be well behind the wagon by the time they stopped.

“If this gets ugly, get to them?” Mint guessed. It was a defensible enough position, especially for two people. They could put their backs to each other or trunks and have a chance at not being surrounded.

“Yeah,” Doki paused, “don’t move until they draw, though. I’d rather not pick a fight here.”

Mint had hoped it wouldn’t. Whatever blades were stashed in the grass and trees stayed there, their wielders content to watch.

“What-ho, travelers,” The bridge holder was kind enough to speak first, at least. “There’s a toll to cross this here bridge. You’ll be expected to pay it.”

There was a long moment of silence as Doki watched the brigand.

“Alright,” She said, “fine, what is it? I’ve got Phrygian crowns, mind you. Real gold in them, not the brass Zanzabab uses.”

There was another pause as the brigand considered them. Mint almost wanted to protest, this wasn’t some tax collector or keeper of the road. Some of the graves behind them could have been created by this fool, and they were testing him as some city official.

She didn’t though, even when he asked for some ridiculous sum. “Ten of them, if you please.”

Doki actually laughed, “Ten golden crowns? I’ll take my odds with your blade over that. How about five.”

There was another pause, another consideration. “How about some bartering,” was the next offer, “rumor has it you have a nice piece with you. Old sword. One of those would buy your passage.

Doki and Mint shared a glance. Where in all the realms these brigands had heard of Atam, Mint did not know, but it was going to be a problem.

“That’s not going to fly,” Doki paused, “look, fine, ten crowns. Too fucking many, but I’ll pay them.”

“Mmmm…” That was not a comforting noise, and Mint could tell Doki felt the same. Her revolver was half out of its holster, one finger tracing along the trigger. “You know, that sword… plenty of us could retire on that kind of money.”

“Plenty of you aren’t going to see tomorrow if you try to take it,” It was Mint’s first words, her attempt to threaten them off. She was met with laughs.

“What, noble girl and her companion are going to kill us?” Mint could hear rustling around them, could see Doki’s long ears twitching against the noise. They were cute little things- Mint took a moment to enjoy Doki’s profile before she turned her eyes to the grass waving against the wind and the bushes shuddering against their occupants.

“I think you’re biting off a bit more than you can chew here,” Doki warned, “either take your ten crowns or say your prayers.”

“Think we’ll be taking a bit more than that. Bo-”

Doki didn’t let him finish. Her shot took him through the chest, the roar covering the sound of it hitting the bridge on the other side, a spout of blood marking its entrance and exit.

The brigand stumbled, tripping over his own legs before falling into the river below. His allies paused at that, the sound of rustling dying around them.

“Do you still want to try us?”

They did, eight more brigands stepping out of the grass and bushes around them.

“Hand over the sword, and keep on moving,” The words were much less pretty, with far more malevolence behind them.

“Hey Mint,” Doki was whispering, “that was my last bullet.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Mint asked.

“Wish I wasn’t.” Doki was still whispering, before turning to the brigands, “alright, alright, come and fucking take it.”

There was a stunned silence- Mint could see Doki drawing her knife, hiding it against her led. It dampened the initial panic, though Doki’s next words didn’t.

“You’re going to need to use that sword.”

“I can’t,” Mint’s voice was quiet, had to be with one of the brigands approaching, homemade spear in hand.

“Gun out!’ Whatever Doki wanted to say was cut off with that, “I want to see it on the ground!”

“Fine, fine,” Doki looked to Mint once, and shook her head, before throwing her revolver to the ground. “Gun is out.”

“Aright, now the sword.”

“Shit,” Doki paused for a moment, “Mint, on me.”

She didn’t wait for Mint to respond, leaping down from her place on the wagon, charging the spearman. His polearm was brought down, but not before Doki was already past its point, the wooden haft, knife leading her into his ribs. Mint followed, swinging the sword back onto her back, a few steps behind the point of the spear as it flailed.

Doki paused only long enough to pull the knife from his belt, passing it back to Mint as they ran. The fight was not going to be a pretty thing, seven versus two, though with the trees at their back, they would stand a chance.

The brigands had been spread out to their sides and behind, but none of them reacted fast enough to bar their way. There were curses once they realized what had happened, oaths of vengeance and rage issued.

Mint ignored them. Cursing and anger were useless when it came time to clash. She settled into a fighting stance, letting a tree cover her left her knife in her right. Sure, she’d been trained with far longer weapons, but she knew how to fight with a knife, and she could tell by the way Doki settled into the low growth next to her that Doki would match her.

There were no more spears- that was the good thing. Most of the brigands were armed with rusted knives and crude cudgels, weapons of peasant killers and roadside ambushes, not that of someone fighting in open ground. There was only a single sword, notched and bent with use.

“Ready?” Mint asked Doki.

“Ready.”

The fight was a vicious thing. Twice, Mint thought she had finally over extended herself, though her arms would be snapped with club or sliced with knife. Both times she managed to reel back, to drive her knife home in the gap between the shattering of her bones and safety.

The first two to reach them were overconfident, spitting curses even as Mint and Doki lunged in sync, digging their blades deep and stepping back to their trees.

The next four were far more cautious, if untrained. They formed into something like a battle line, though their knives would only be getting in the way, and those armed with cudgels didn’t seem to know how to swing them.

The pair had to dig in to fight them, blocking with the flats of their blades and digging fingernails into flesh to hold their enemies in place. The sword wielder was the best trained of them, Mint could tell. He faced off with Doki, one great arc catching her off guard. She was sidestepping a club when it fell, digging into her shoulder. Mint felt her heart stop as she heard Doki shriek against it, though an odd clang of metal told her she’d blocked it with something before the damage was too great.

It took them many minutes to drive the others off, three dead, one running for the hills.

“Fuck,” Doki was holding her sliced shirt closed, blood seeping into it.

“Doki, let me-”

“No,” Doki’s voice was harsh, “I’ll deal with it. Lets just get back to the wagon.”

They had all but forgotten about the seventh. They had been one of the knife wielders, and had not bothered to charge the pair with the rest.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” It seemed they had settled for a far easier prize- the horses. Both of them had been cut from the wagon, one ridden saddles, the other driven off.

Doki had the sense to pick her gun off the ground before raging, cursing the sky and the river, along with the would be thieves. It was a blistering tirade, one that shocked Mint.

“Doki, it s just the horses,” Mint said, “we can get new ones- fuck, we dont even need horses, we can hike the rest of the way.”

“No we can’t, Mint,” There was bitterness in her words, even as Doki turned away from her, “no we can’t.”

“Why not, Doki?” Mint asked. She was starting to get riled up, “its our only option, isn't it? Or are you going to be leaving already?”

Doki turned, something angry at the back of her throat. Mint could see the look in her eyes, the same one she’d given on of Mint’s instructors before cursing them out. Mint knew she was next, that something had happened in their time apart.

Doki settled on something else, though, pulling her shirt, ripping the blood stained fabric, revealing her chest underneath.

Where there should have been a breast, where there should have been ribs and flesh, there was a gaping hole, plated with some strange metal. And in its center, rather than a beating heart, there was some clockwork contraption. Mint watched it pulse a moment, saw the systems that were even now pumping Doki’s blood. On its front was a clock face, a little square to mark days past.

As Mint watched, the minute hand ticked backwards, the hour moving ever so slightly as well. “Oh,” Mint whispered.

It was not a clock face. A timer, two days, seven hours, fifty three minutes.

Chapter Text

They didn’t talk. That was the worst part. Mint didn’t know what to say, what to do. In her head she kept seeing the timer, kept watching it tick tick tick towards… whatever would happen at zero. The heart stopping? Doki being dragged off by whatever had put it there?

The two gathered what supplies they could and took to the road again, crossing into the Lowland Plains, Fort Obsyr just a mile beyond. The fort had long been abandoned, inhabited only by the passing companies of outriders or merchant caravans. On the way north, it was the last safe place until the Fantome hold. South, it was the marker of the end of the brigand lands, a sign that life would be easier.

Not for Mint though. No, it's coming only marked how little time Doki had left.

They were the only two who sheltered in the fort that night. The winds howled against its walls, racing through cracked walls and broken halls, forcing them to find deeper nooks to tuck themselves into, until the pair settled for sleeping in the ancient citadel, once host to a mighty force, now all but forgotten.

They set their bedrolls on the tables there, far above any bugs that would come to investigate them and off of the cold, hard stone floor. The tables were of an old, fine wood. Ancient spells had kept them from fading to dust and rot, though even those were fading. They would not sleep though- no, there was still too much unsaid.

The pair were lit only by a pair of false-lights, their faint, pale glow not enough to illuminate even the nearest of the citadel's walls.

“Doki,” Mint didn’t even know where to start. What to ask. She still saw the timer, even in that darkness, still watched it ticking down.

“Yeah, Mint?” For the first time, Mint didn’t see her old friend. She didn’t see the Doki she had known, the bastard daughter of a harpy, the circus performer, the rascal who didn’t back down. In that half light, she saw the face of a haggard veteran, survivor of a thousand battles, someone who knew their time had run out. She saw the mercenary who had survived so much, only to lose out.

“Were you going to tell me?” Mint asked. She was imagining herself, waiting for a Doki that would never come, living her life in Zanzabab, wondering why that beautiful girl never came back.

“No,” Doki said.

“Why?”

Doki looked to her, the first time the pair’s eyes met since Doki had shown the space where her heart should have been. “I didn’t- I- fuck,” Doki brought her hands up, rubbing at her eyes. There was a laugh there, but it was not the cackle of a Doki pleased with a joke, nor the full hearted laughter Mint had not heard since the waning days of their youth. It was sad, bitter. The laugh of someone who wanted, but could not have.

“I didn’t plan on telling you a lot of things, Mint.” She finally said. “I figured it would be easier that way. I’d fade off into history, you’d go live your life.”

“But…” Mint paused, her voice barely above a whisper “but I’d miss you.”

Doki wanted to say something else. Mint saw it, saw the way she opened her mouth once, the way she was looking at Mint, thinking, trying to find something.

“I’m going to miss you to,” Doki finally said. It was not what she wanted to, Mint could see the way she grimaced as she spoke, “If there was something I could do…”

“Is there?” Mint asked. There was something in Doki’s voice, the knowledge that what she wanted was in reach.

“If I were to serve,” but so, so far away. Doki spat the word like a curse. Mint knew what she meant, even if Doki did not say. The concept of ‘service’ was one whispered in rumors and legend, of mortals bound in oath to demons of the far realms.

“Doki…. What happened out there?”

Doki laughed, that same bitter laugh. “You know,” there was a moments pause as Doki thought, “Okay, fine. I owe you a story.”

Doki’s story was much the same as she had told. She was one of the Ten Thousand, marching into Phrygia, fighting week after week of battle and survival. It took them three months to meet with an order of knights, led by one of the last of the Fantomes.

The battles north, the grinding march, a thousand deaths. “And then we got cornered,” Doki was looking into one of the false-lights, seeing something far beyond them, “we were two thousand, by then. Marched south with a host nearly seven thousand strong. By then half our number were knights and Fantome auxiliaries. But still, we were so damn close to getting out.”

“We’d settled into a valley for the night- no fires, barely any rations left. We were trying to have one good night of sleep, stay hidden for one fucking night.” Doki shook her head. “We woke up to dead sentries and a pair of demon armies sitting on our routes out.”

Mint could imagine it, she’d read tales of great demon hosts, of armies of shining knights and hardened warriors fighting their way through encirclement and traps, chasing their enemies from the edges of the known world. This would not be one of those stories.

“We were going to try to break through the northern army, the knights were going to lead the charge, we’d boil out behind them.” Doki took a long drink from one of the flagons she’d insisted on bringing with them, “didn’t happen, of course. Next day they attacked. Two armies, both maybe double our size.”

Doki drew out little formations in the air as she spoke, “we had a double line of rifles, set up on the eastern hills, swords beneath them. Knights were roaming our north, extra company of rifles on the south. One full company of longswords kept in reserve.”

“We lost, of course. Only reason I’m still alive is because we got desperate, a few dozen knights and a bunch of longswords broke through the lines south, a few of us rifles got out that way. We spent three, four weeks trying to find a route north, trying not to get caught by warhounds or hunters.”

“No food, of course, no clean water. Took a few days for that to start showing, before we started killing each other or just disappearing completely. Anything for a scrap of food, a drink of water. That probably got most of us before the demons did.”

“What about you?” Mint asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Doki asked, a grim laugh following her words, “I learned pretty quick I wasn’t going to win those fights. There were a few knights left, and between their plate and training… I’ve seen them run down demons and eat their horses. I’d rather not find out how I fair in a fight against them. So I left, figured I had a better chance making it on my own. I probably did, if it weren't for…” there was a name on Doki's lips. Mint saw it, felt the air still as itnprepared to hear the name of a demon.

“You know the name?” Mint asked.

“It was a taunt, after…” She made a grabbing motion, pulling something invisible through the air. “Tehatuen. Arch Demon, wannabe conqueror. They ran me down, pulled my heart out of my chest, and put this fucking thing in its place. Gave me a month to bend the knee.”

“And you…”

“And I figured I’d come see you one last time. I already told some of the boys that I would after that campaign, though I figured… you know, I’d come up in a uniform and a rank and enough money to go on a bit of a vacation. Reconnect, after everything.”

Mint imagined it, imagined getting to know Doki again, moving beyond the memories of their past and making new ones together. There was a spark of anger there, of bitterness, for the opportunity lost to her.

“I would have liked that,” Mint said, “I really would have.”

They were quiet again, until Mint stood and took a few cautious steps towards Doki. “Can I see it?” Mint asked.

Doki didn’t stop her, pulling her shirt aside. Mint winced at the ugly wound above the metal, the stitches Mint had contributed. It was the best they could do, and as Doki said, it wasn’t like the quality of the tend mattered very much.

Mint reached a hand out, careful at first, more confident after Doki’s shrug. She felt along the cold demon steel- she recognized the metal as that, now, before she oh so delicately traced the face of the timer, the clockwork heart behind. Mint felt it beating, felt the heat of Doki’s blood through its tubes, the vibration as Doki breathed in and out.

“We… we could try to find someone. A shaman or a mage priest or-”

“No,” Doki’s voice was gentle, taking one of Mint’s hands in hers. “Mint, there’s nothing we can do. Nothing. Before I came up here I stopped in the Castle of Marchers. There were half a dozen of the greatest healers in the world there, and none of them could do anything.”

“Then what?” Mint asked, “what are we… Am I just supposed to watch you die?”

“We go south.” Doki said. She had come to terms with her fate long ago, “I wanted to do one last thing with you. I want to help you one last time. Sure, I wanted to leave you at Harper Ferry or Fulcron, but at very least, I’ll get you to the shrine of Azir.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’ll pick a nice tree to die under, I guess,” Doki said, “I don’t know what happens when it hits zero, and I’d prefer to be the only one who finds out.”

Another long few moments of silence. Mint had retreated from Doki’s heart, though not from Doki herself. There were both sitting on the table Doki had claimed, old wood creaking under their weight.

“I missed you,” Mint said, “I… I’m going to miss you.”

Doki didn’t respond for a long moment, and when she did, it was with her dagger in hand, holding its hilt out to Mint. “Take it.”

“Why?”

“It’s the last of the Ten Thousand. I’m the last of the Ten Thousand. If you’re going to give the sword up… maybe pick up another one. Learn black powder. The Ten Thousand fought for a long time, they deserve another chance.”

Mint looked at the blade, at the silvered etchings. She wondered how old it was, how many owners it had had before Doki. How many demons it had slain. She imagined driving it into the demon that had doomed Doki.

She took the knife, watching the false-light glinting against it. “I’ll do my best,” She said.

They did not sleep together that night. Mint almost wanted to ask, wanted the comfort of Doki at her side. But she imagined the pain that would come, the time limit on the comfort Doki would bring.They slept apart, for what little they did, and that hurt almost as much.

Morning came slowly, but that did not bother Doki. She had marched in early hours plenty in her life as one of the Ten Thousand, and Mint would get to experience much of the same.

“One day, fifteen hours,” Mint told her.

“It’s nice,” Doki pulled her shirt closed, “I… I got used to having to see it in the mirror. Having to see it as a part of myself.” She was quiet a moment, “thank you.”

Mint wanted to say ‘you’re welcome,’ to say anything. But she could not treat this the same as Doki, could not simply move past it. Doki might have come to terms with her own death, with the fate that had chosen her. But Mint? Mint could not imagine it. She took a moment to reach for Atam, still slung across her back. For the first time in years, she took the hilt.

“I need you,” She told it. This time it wasn't a plea. “I am going to need you. When the time comes, you will answer.”

As always, it was silent. Mint didn’t mind that, not this time. Atam would answer her, when the moment came.

Chapter Text

The road to the shrine of Azir was too long. Mint could feel it in the way Doki pushed them, in how she watched the sky. Mint wondered how far they would get, how much time they would have left.The terrain was pleasant, at least. The low plains they had been traveling through had given way to thick hedges and herds of sheep.

These were tamed lands, of flocks and shepherds. Had they the time, it would have been a good place to stray from the path, find their way to taverns and little towns to refresh and resupply.

“Can I check?’ They stopped to rest, if only briefly. Enough time to stretch out their legs and eat something from their packs before they were off again. Mint had gotten into a habit of checking, of making sure her count was correct.

“It’s not any different.” It had begun to annoy Doki, but the half harpy related all the same. One day, eleven hours.

“Sorry,” Mint paused, “I wish… I wish we could do something else. Go see something, before the end. Did you ever make it out to the cliffs?”

Doki laughed at Mint’s suggestion. “That takes me back,” The cliffs had been their dream, ages ago. Sheets of granite and iron, overlooking a great valley. The cliffs of Aurn had played host to a thousand great happenings. The two of them had made many plans to go there on their own, to make some grand oath or change some twist of fate. “No, I never did.”

“If you had the time, would you?” Mint could see Doki think about it, saw her head tilt as she looked from the horizon down to Mint.

“Come on, let's get moving.”

They trudged on in silence for a long few minutes. Mint wondered if she had struck a nerve, if Doki was going to stop answering the little questions she asked.

“I don’t think it would be the cliffs,” Doki had still been thinking, “I think I’d like to go to the Grand Reliquary. I always dreamed of one of those weapons picking me. Never got the chance to try.”

“That-” Mint wanted to say it sounded fun, that it was a good idea, but she felt the weight of Atam, and the long bitterness it carried.

“Sounds like hell for you, huh?” Doki asked, “yeah. I dunno, I figure it doesn't really matter anyway. If I’m gonna die anyway, maybe I want to head back up to the aviaries. I haven't been home in… fuck, I don’t even know how long. Fifteen years?”

“Do you remember it?” Mint asked.

“Not really.” Doki paused to kick a rock out in front of her, and then off to the side when she reached it again. “I remember looking down on the clouds. I wasn’t even old enough to realize what that meant, but now I look up at them,” She did, finding the scant few drifting their way through the sky, “I’d like to have that view one more time.”

Mint tried to imagine being that high, imagine what sorts of creatures live up beyond the sky as she knew. “I’ll um,” She looked to Doki, then the clouds, “maybe I’ll try to get up there again. See it for you.”

“You should.” Doki paused a moment, wincing as she pulled a feather from the brace that grew at her ears. It was a long thing, perhaps on a true harpy it would have been a flight feather. For Doki, though, it was only a memento. “Take this with you, if you do.”

Mint reached out to take the feather, feeling its softness and the hardened point where it had once met flesh, “did that hurt?”

“Not more than a thousand other things.” Doki answered. Mint watched her wipe at her ear, a spot of blood the only remnant of the feather, “plus, I’d rather like to think some part of me can make it back to the mountains. Do me a favor and put a rock on top of it or something, make sure it stays.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Mint said, trying to keep the hitch out of her voice, “I’ll… I’ll make sure you get there.”

They were silent again, Doki pushing them too fast to talk comfortably. The roads were empty, save for a passing herd of livestock or the singular oxcart that trundled past them.

It was noon before anyone greeted them. A hooded man, standing in the crossroads. It was not a simple greeting, it was a grating, tortured breath, one that smelled of fire and blood.

“I see,” the creature said. It certainly wasn’t human, Mint could tell, and the foul air that surrounded it told the ghost that it was some creation of the hells. “You will make the choice, creature of mountains.”

“Do me a favor,” Doki had stopped before them, though she didn’t seem phased, “and crawl back to whatever hole you came out of.”

“Your time is ticking,” The thing raised a hand, and Doki collapsed, clutching at her chest, “remember what you have been given, child of air. Remember what can be taken. One service will free you.”

A gust of air, a flash of hellfire, and it was gone. Mint rushed to Doki, helping her stand, eyes wide as Doki pulled back her shirt, revealing the metal embedded in her chest glowing with heat, her skin burning against it. “Fuck,” there were tears in Doki’s eyes as she leaned against Mint.

“Doki,” Mint didn’t know what to do, how to help. She reached for the metal, for the ticking heart, pausing at each.

“It’ll pass,” Doki managed to groan out, “it always does.”

It took time, though. Time Mint spent feeling useless, trying to cool Doki with their water and her own unnaturally cold skin.

“Who was that?” Once Doki was recovered enough to sit on her own, to speak and drink a bit of water, Mint asked the first of the many questions she had.

“Messenger of demons.” Doki paused, “that’s the third time I’ve seen them. Worst they’ve toasted my chest, though.” She tried to laugh at that. It died on her lips, leaving a sad, painful silence between them.

“What… what did they mean? A service?”

Doki looked to Mint, then shrugged. “Guess it doesn’t really matter,” she took a moment to rummage through pockets, working her way from her front to the bag at her side before she found what she was looking for. A bullet, one of some unnatural metal. "Here, catch.”

Doki threw it to Mint, who hissed against the sting of the bullet. Whatever the thing was made of, it was intened to kill people like Mint. It was meant to kill her, Mint realized. Her name was inscribed on it in flowing cursive.

“You- you kept this?”

“Throw it.” Doki said, and then after a pause, “I’m serious. Chuck it as far as you can.”

There was a level of resignation in Doki’s voice, one that told Mint she knew what would happen. Mint did so anyway, watching the bullet ark before landing in a great hedge many feet from them.

“And,” Doki paused, before grimacing, pulling the same bullet from her front pocket, “yeah, here it is.”

Mint watched it, watched Doki throw it behind her, could see the moment it returned by the roll of Doki’s eyes. “I’ve tried smashing it, tried leaving it, tried melting it- not very well, all I had were campfires, but still.”

“What about-”

“Shooting it?” Doki finished for Mint, “I thought about it. Never thought it would be worth the risk to put a bullet with your name on it out there. Especially not if theres a ninety nine percent chance it just comes back to me. Especially not now.”

"You wouldn't hit me." Mint said.

"You trust me that much?" Doki paused a moment, realizing Mint's silence was a yes, "well, I never wanted to risk it."

“We need to get moving,” Doki said, shaking herself out of a moment of musing. Another hour of their time wasted, another hour less to make the trip to the shrine. They did not talk, not then. They marched well into the night, only stopping when they began to stumble over every rock and pebble in their path.

There was no fire that night, only the cold and huddling against each other against the wind.

“This is my last night,” It was well into the dark when Doki spoke, though neither of them were sleeping. “I didn’t think it would mean so much.”

Mint could hear the pain in her voice. She turned, reaching one hand out, finding Doki’s own. She felt Doki squeeze as she did. “I know its been… its been years. But I’m going to miss you, Mint.”

“I’m not going to let you die.” She felt the laugh, even if Doki tried to hide it.

“Mint, I don’t think that's a choice we get to make.” Doki said, “this isn’t Azir and the sixty, or the legend of Harbur. It's just shit luck.”

Doki didn’t let go of Mint’s hand though, even as they faded to sleep. Mint was up longer, listening to the sound of Doki breathing, feeling the beat of her heart. Her other reached to Atam, ever attached to her. She repeated her oath, once more demanding then service of the blade. Again, it was quiet. Again, Mint did not fear that.

The next morning came, and their time was measured in hours. Doki refused to let Mint check. “We need to keep moving,” she always said, “we have to go faster.”

And that they did. Mint almost had to jog to keep up with Doki’s pace. Her longer legs and experience with marching meant she could keep them moving for hours, and the memory of doom hanging over her meant even exhaustion didn’t stop her. Mint’s own training was almost a match for her, though as the sun crested, Doiki was having to slow them.

“I’m sorry,” Doki said, once they were at a more comfortable pace, “I just… I don’t want to leave you, but I also want you to be safe.”

“Doki…” Mint paused for a moment, “do you trust me?”

“I-” Doki had to stop herself, and that hurt a little bit. “It’s been a long time, Mint. I don’t want you to put yourself at risk.”

“Do you trust me?” Again, the question, again the silence that told Mint Doki didn’t know if she could.

“Yeah,” It came as a surprise, minutes later, “I do. I don’t have much left, after all. I trust you, Mint.”

“Then we’re going to the cliffs, after this.”

There was someone waiting for them at the shrine. Perhaps not someone. It stood just beyond the many warded pillars of the shrine, meant to keep demons and their servants from the place. It had four great arms, a feathered and a leathery wing spread behind it. Its head was more horns than face, three leering eyes staring down the left side of its head, each fixed on Doki.

“Servant,” its voice was not meant to be heard on the mortal plain, it shrieked and grated against the very fabric of the world, setting all of Mint’s hairs on end. “You have delayed long enough.” there was a snap, a moment of deadly silence. Doki reached for her chest, while the demon held in one of its clawed hands, her beating heart, the mechanical counterpart next to it. “End this.”

“Hey Mint,” Doki said, “I do trust you.” She drew faster than any of the two could react, faster than even the demon could retaliate. A demon forged bullet was not particularly special. It would not bend through the air, even inscribed with a name. It shot straight and true, rupturing Doki’s long lost heat, shattering the mechanical one in turn.

Mint watched her collapse a moment later, the demon screaming in pain as its own bullet lodged into its arm. Mint had only one choice, pulling Atam down from her back, and drawing it from its cloth sheath.

It was still cold, still lifeless, but Mint slammed it into the ground, bellowing “you will answer me!”

As the tip of its blade sank into the ground, as Mint’s voice rattled off of the blade, it lit with ghostly flame, greens and pale whites consuming it, bathing Mint in their heat and power. Twin circles of fire surrounded her and Doki, as old magics and ancient battles flowed through Mint’s mint. The sword had won a thousand victories, made a thousand wrongs right. This would be just another on the long list. Perhaps not its greatest, perhaps not the most important, but it would serve its purpose all the same.

Mint heard Doki gast for breath, knew that she would live. That left one last battle, one more beast to slay. The demon had turned its attention to Mint, laughing at her. “Come, little lordling,” it told her, “let us see what the last of the Fantomes can do!”

Mint did not wait for the demon to finish drawing its great hellish weapons. Atam urged her onwards, and she answered with a leap, lunging with blade outstretched, intending on running the demon through.

Their battle was a brutal thing. The demon's weapons were cursed, warped things, blades that twitched and moved and curled around Mint’s guard, clubs that could shatter bone and toss legions aside. Mint alone would have perished there, but with the knowledge of old Atam, she found herself weaving between blade and bludgeon, driving her blade into the tiniest of opportunities, spilling blue-purple blood with each strike.

Soon enough the demon was cursing her in its own foul language, as each of its great assaults were foiled and returned with slashes and stabs. Perhaps they were no more than paper cuts, Mint no more than a particularly determined gnat, but Atam knew there would a a moment to drive deep, it only need present itself.

Mint had a moment to pause, thrown back from parrying one of the beasts, great blade. She drew the knife Doki had given her, the motto of the thousand blades glittering in its silver. It was not the best of weapons to wield against such a foe, but it was better than an empty other hand. Atam did not like to be wielded in two, she had learned, and through the whole fight her left seemed useless. Now, at least, it would have some sting.

Mint charged back in, cursing in Atam’s own language, old magics expressed as she spoke, ghost fire searing horn and demon skin alike. Still, there was no gap, no opportunity. And Mint would tire, long before the demon did. She needed something, some opportunity.

Atam urged her to fight on. She ducked a great swipe, using the moment to leap up and over a lashing claw, striking back with a slash of her own, hissing as demon blood sizzles against her skin. Even in wounding it, she was sapping her own strength.

“Hey!’ Doki had finally stood, and while she was without weapons or munitions, she stood tall, pointing her empty revolver towards the two. “Demon, I name you Ghurgalishtaranial! Face me!”

The name was a twisting, cursed thing. A gust of wind, as though the world itself was trying to clear it from the air, followed. But a demon could not deny its true name, not once it was spoken. It had to turn, to acknowledge the one who knew it, to aknowledge Doki's challenge.

And in that moment, it was defenseless. Mint heard it curse, knew that her time had come. She drove Atam into its shoulder, levering it down, drawing its head into range.

And the blade that had been passed from hand to hand for uncounted years, one of Ten Thousand daggers, demon killers all, found another victim. Mint drove it into the unprotected underside of its skull, a grim smile on her face as she heard it tear through what held this demon together.

It held a moment, its eyes screaming hate unsaid, before the body spasmed and ruptured, what bindings kept it in the world breaking against the strain of its wounds, even the dust it was disintegrating into fading into nothingness.

Doki and Mint stood for a moment, looking to each other, to the empty space that had once been a demon, to the sky.

“Holy shit,” Doki was laughing, one hand reaching to where once had been a gaping hole, but was now flesh and bone and heart. “Mint, holy shit.”

Mint was laughing too, the rush of victory, the realization that Atam had only needed the proper moment to answer her.

“Doki,” she said, “we did it.”

They embraced there, on that empty plain, free of a ticking clock, free of the worry of duty, free of the distance between them.

“Mint,” Doki perhaps wanted to say more, wanted to move past the awkwardness and the distance.

“We have places to be, Doki.” Mint said. They would have time. Years, decades, who knows how long. They would see the great cliffs of Aurn, the city of Zanzabab, a thousand more things.

“Let's get going, then.” And they would see them together.