“I found it!” called Tezzariel from a few rows of shelving off to one side.

Tiel dropped the sheaf of paper in her hands and immediately began making her way over. Her feelings regarding the day had been correct. Finally, she could breathe a sigh of relief. She arrived to find Tezzariel atop the highest shelf, sitting on her knees, hands in her lap, her gaze fixed on the contents of a long and shallow wooden crate.

Tiel opened her mouth to call out to her friend, but…

She stopped.

Something didn’t feel right about the scene.

To say Tezzariel was a stoic person was something of an understatement. She was not someone Tiel would have described as, “expressive,” or, “emotional.” Tezzariel always kept her feelings hidden beneath a veneer of professional conduct. This was probably due in combination to her general seriousness, as well as her upbringing in the church. Even when she did show emotion it always felt like she was holding something back. None of this was to say that Tezzariel didn’t feel emotions, or even that she was aware of her own taciturn nature. It was more of an impression that she gave off. For a child, she seemed very adult, very composed.

Usually, at any rate.

In that moment, however, Tiel felt that she was seeing a new side to Tezzariel.

Tezzariel’s teeth were tightly clenched and her cheeks were red with the heat of her anger. Her shoulders were hunched forward like a cornered animal, and her knuckles were white as she clutched the hem of her robes. Even from a few strides away Tiel could hear how labored her breathing was.

Though the shelves were too high for Tiel to see the contents of the crate, she could more or less discern what had happened.

“If I only I could tell her the truth.”

Moving a little closer, the goddess spoke.

“Tezza?” she asked, keeping her voice gentle and low. “Tezza, are you alright?”

Tezzariel’s head snapped up suddenly, her gaze flickering about as the tension vanished from her posture. It was as if she had just woken from a trance, and in a way, she had. Tiel empathized with the girl. She was all to familiar with the experience.

“What? How did…” Tezzariel muttered, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Turning to face the goddess, Tezzariel bowed apologetically. She looked confused, but had evidently collected herself. She was Tezza once more. “My divine… I’m sorry, I lost myself for a second there. How strange…”

“Think nothing of it. Are you okay?”

Tezzariel looked at the crate as if seeing it for the first time.

“I think so. I feel fine now. For a moment I thought I recognized it, but that’s impossible…”

“I see,” replied Tiel, breathing an internal sigh of relief. Externally, she tried to seem reassuring.

It was good that Tezzariel was not the type to ask questions. Tiel wasn’t sure how good at lying she was. She hadn’t had much practice over the last thousand years or more, but the girl wasn’t ready to hear the truth. Maybe she never would be.

Reaching forward, Tezzariel put the lid back on the crate and began pushing it towards the edge of the shelf.

“It’s definitely the thing you’re looking for!” She groaned. “Wow, it’s really heavy! Is this thing made of lead!?”

Hopping down from the shelf in one swift movement, Tezzariel grabbed hold of the crate and pulled. Slowly, and with as much care as she could manage, she dropped one end of the crate at a time.

“Bring it over to the table if you can.”

“I can.”

Chest heaving and arms bulging, Tezzariel began to drag the crate along the floor. Tiel felt a little bad for the girl. She would have liked to help, but she couldn’t steer her chair and hold unto something at the same time. Fortunately, Tezzariel was big for her age, and naturally athletic as well. A life of chores and tasks had shaped her into a strong young woman. Hoisting the crate unto the table with all of her strength, Tezzariel somehow managed to get it all the way up before collapsing backward in a heap. Sweat beaded along her hairline, and her legs and arms trembled a little.

“Bah!” She wheezed, “definitely lead. That was the heaviest thing I’ve ever moved!”

For someone who’s expression was usually so neutral, her choice of words tended toward exaggeration.

“Tezza?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind leaving me for a bit. Maybe go and wash up?”

Tezzariel examined the goddess for a long moment, a glimmer in her crimson eyes and a barely visible twist at the corners of her mouth. Tiel interpreted the expression as concern, though she wasn’t positive. Regardless of what it was, she desperately wanted to be alone with the object.

“That seems like a bad idea.”

“Thank you for your help, Tezza, but I need to do it this way. Please understand.”

“Call for me if you need me,” sighed Tezzariel as she looked away and scratched her head, disturbing the prim straightness of her swept back red hair. Rising to her feet, Tezzariel bit at her lower lip. “I mean it. If anything happens, call for me immediately.”

Tiel was touched despite herself.

“And who is the older one here, hmm?”

“You, or so you keep telling me.” Tezzariel began walking away towards the nearest wash closet, rolling her shoulders as she went. “I mean it, Tiel. Call me, or I’ll be angry.”

With a wave as she disappeared around a shelf, Tezzariel was gone.

“Such a precocious child.”

Tezzariel was just like Tiel had known she would be. She was reliable, kind, patient, and most importantly, a loyal friend, something that Tiel would need in the days ahead.

Turning her attention to the crate, Tiel wheeled herself alongside the table. The wooden crate was worn and cherry in color, almost completely unremarkable save for some scribbles of writing that Tiel didn’t recognize, a series of concentric circles with intersecting lines at intervals. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to feel in this moment, but now that she was here…

Gingerly, Tiel reached out and plucked off the lid.

Tezzariel had been right, this was the thing she had been searching for.

A sword.

Despite the wear of the crate in which it was placed, the sword still shone like it was fresh from the forge, polished and clean, ready to be put on display. Not a spot of rust speckled the dark gray metal despite the sword being hundreds or possibly even thousands of years old. The rope weave around the grip could have been tied yesterday for all that Tiel could tell. Strange notches ran up and down the length of the curved blade at different points, but they weren’t battle scars. They were too symmetrical, too coordinated, like grooves in a key. Mounted on the swords pommel was a crimson orb, about the size of teacup.

“It’s so familiar, but why?”

Though Tiel was knowledgeable about many things, a result of living in a veritable library, She was not an expert in swords. Even with what little knowledge she did have, the make and origin of this one was a mystery to her. All she had to go on was a feeling that she had felt it’s grip press against the skin of her fingers, that she had felt it’s weight hang from a belt at her waist. It was just a feeling, but a feeling that Tiel trusted implicitly. Generally they were so accurate as to be prophetic.

“Were you waiting for me?” she whispered to the sword as she leaned in close, her voice breathy and hands trembling in anticipation. Tiel ran her fingers delicately across the metal as if it were thin glass, careful so as not to touch it’s edge. It was cold, unusually so, and made the hairs on the back of her hand stand up. This sword had belonged to her, as had everything else stored within the confines of the prison she called a palace.

Everything within these walls was a clue, a piece of the puzzle that was her past. The many lives she had forgotten lay scattered among the shelves, hidden away in the forgotten corners of the fallen moon, just waiting to be found.

Some version of herself had likely understood the significance of this weapon. That previous her would have known what the notches were for, and what the symbol meant. She would have recognized the sheen of the blade, and been able to read the writing on the crate. As always, she was left with more questions than answers.

And, as always, one question stood out.

“Who am I?”

She hated that question, but it still burned inside of her. Maybe she hated it for that very reason. It called out to her, even in her sleep, ceaselessly driving her forward, mercilessly plaguing every moment of her existence. It was the reason she was able to keep going.

Between her visions of the future and the sudden urges to find unspecified artifacts, it was obvious to Tiel that her past wanted to be found. It wanted her to pull back the curtain and find the truth of her existence, and it wouldn’t let her rest until she did.

Though she had been uncertain about what this particular artifact might be before now, she was still surprised to find that it was a sword. Had she been a warrior in a past life? Or was it related to someone she had known? It was impossible to say, but difficult to imagine. In the memories she held presently she had always been the bookish type, more inclined to comfortable pillows and good food than exercise and adrenaline.

Placing her elbows on the table and her chin in her palms, Tiel took a moment to appreciate the weapon. She examined it for what might have been seconds, or minutes, but when all was said and done, she knew staring at it would accomplish little. There was only one way to find the answers she sought.

“It’s just a sword.” She sighed. Yes, just a sword. “Well, only one thing left to do then is…”

Sitting up straight in her chair, Tiel reached out towards the sword with both hands. With one hand, she gripped the hilt, holding the sword in place, and with the other, she pressed her index finger into the blades edge.

It was dull. So dull in fact that it surprised her. Why was it that the sword was so well preserved, yet the blade was as as sharp as a table’s edge.

“Strange.”

The artifact was clearly a sword, and swords were meant to cut. Tiel felt a little silly for her earlier abundance of caution. Well, if it wasn’t for cutting, then maybe it was for piercing. Placing her finger against the very tip of the blade, she pressed, wincing slightly as it broke flesh.

Closing her eyes, Tiel readied herself for the onslaught.

The pain was immediate, and intense.

The vision enveloped her like a tidal swell, pulling her in and sending her spiraling into it’s depths. Tiel opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She was drowning, drowning in a cascade of images and sights and sounds and smells. Falling into sensory overload until her skin crackled with sensation and her mind expanded to the brink of shattering. Somewhere far off in the distance she could hear a song beneath it all, and wondered if it was similar to the song Tezzariel had heard on the day they had met.

Then, gradually, the pain began to fade, and the sensations ceased.

***

Tiel open her eyes, only to find someone else’s staring back at her.

They were green…

Jade and emerald, spring and summer, rebirth and renewal.

They were as endless as an infinite sea of grass, and as deep as the darkest forest.

Tiel recalled the robes she always wore, and how safe they made her feel. She recalled the time she had tried to paint trees on the wall in the vault, and wondered if this had been what she had been trying to capture.

The eyes were her favorite color.

They were beautiful.

They were looking at her with a mix of emotion that threatened to break her heart.

Tightening her grip on the sword, Tiel leaned all of her weight into the blade, feeling it sink deeper into flesh. The eyes belonged to a man with slender, effeminate features and an ageless complexion, but Tiel was not fooled. This man was ancient. He was ancient in the same way that she was ancient.

He was immortal.

His ornate breastplate might as well have been paper before the sharpness of her sword. He was dressed in a long white coat, finely embroidered around the base, and wore an abundance of jewelery, mostly gold. The man was ostentatiously dressed, but seemed more serene than prideful. Like her, his hair was also silver white, except his was shorter, cropped loosely around the ears and shoulders. Long trails of blood poured from the corners of his mouth in rivulets, and his lips looked cracked and dry. Where the left side of his head should have been, was an open cave in his skull, as if some incredibly force had struck him there.

Tiel looked down at the ground, where her own two feet were planted firmly on a floor of gray tiles. She should have been shocked to see them there, but she wasn’t.

Bloody spittle landed on Tiel’s face as the man coughed. His blood was warm, but made Tiel feel cold. For reasons she did not understand, she was murdering this man.

Following the length of the blade with her eyes, it pierced the man’s chest, and came out of the other side. Blood poured from the wound in a steady waterfall, forming a small lake at her feet. It was too much blood for one man.

He would die.

He should already be dead.

In panic and disgust, Tiel tried to remove her hands from the grip of the sword but they wouldn’t budge. She was an observer to herself, watching a future that had not yet taken place. A future that, she hoped, would never take place.

She was surrounded by death.

From her vantage point on the hilltop, the encircling landscape was nothing but a blasted hell of tree roots and corpses. Maybe it was a battlefield, or simply a massacre. Against the man’s back, an immense tower, gray and coffin shaped, ascended into the stratosphere, yet did not touch the ground by her feet.

She regarded the man.

She wanted to apologize, to plead, but…

He was smiling at her.

It wasn’t a sad smile, either.

It was a smile filled with gentle acceptance, with relief. Seeing that smile made Tiel feel a deep sense of nostalgia and loneliness. She knew that smile.

She loved that smile.

Tears started to well in her eyes but she refused to blink. To blink was to look away from his final moments. Tiel knew in her heart that what he needed from her was not her pity, but her resolve. He wanted her to see his end.

Softly, he spoke to her, his lips moving slowly as they tried to form words. His voice was deep and tonal, like the thrum of a harp string after being plucked. His voice came from somewhere deep in his chest, and did not match the softness of his features.

Tiel listened, but could not understand him. Whatever language he spoke, she did not know it. Yet, she felt comforted by it, and perhaps that was his intention. Even as he died, he cared for her. Even though she was killing him, he did not blame her.

“Tiellian,” the man said, as he struggled to raise his hands. “Tiellian.”

Tiel stared at him in wonder.

“Tiellian, does this world feel… unfinished, to you? Is it still missing something?”

Tiel swallowed the swell in her throat. She did not know if it belonged to the her that was sitting in the vault beneath the sea, or the her in the vision, but it hurt all the same.

“For me, a world without you is always missing something.”

His hands finally reached the sides of her face, where they gently brushed against her cheeks.

“Do not cry for me, Tiellian. There is always next time,” he said, his smile widening. “There is… always… next…”

“No!” Tiel cried as she desperately tried to assert control over her body. “Please, please don’t leave me again!” His hands were so… cold.

He grinned.

“Next time…,” he finished.

His hands fell to his sides, leaving streaks of blood on her cheeks. Slowly, the light in his eyes flickered, and went out. Tiel knew that she would never be able to replicate that color, and how it made her feel. Only in her memories could she keep it close. Only in her memories…

***

Sobs wracked her chest as Tiel let go of the sword and leaned back in her chair. She was back in the vault, staring up into the soft ambient glow of it’s ceiling. The room seemed very empty, all of the sudden.

“The pain of your loss,” she thought to herself, “is so… nostalgic.”