"No, no, NO! Where is it!?"

Eira scrambled through her rundown home, every drawer emptied and every loose piece of fabric strewn about in chaos. Her heart dropped to her knees and she went with it as her fears had been realized.

I lost it. I lost Calix's knife.

She cast herself back to the previous night, when she'd had it last. At some point it had slipped out of it's sheath. But when?

She replayed the night in her mind, beginning with sneaking into the smithy. She hung the bronze blade by the ring at it's base on her finger while she picked the lock, a habit she had made after getting snuck up on during her first month in the city.

Once inside, she had used the blessing to snuff the flames of the forge, and when the flames had gone out, an apprentice who had been tending it spotted her, but she slashed his throat before he could peep. Then she had cut a strip of leather from the bellows to clean the blade, and more so to inconvenience the humans who worked it come morning.

After that she had sheathed it, and set to work on stealing what supplies she could manage. A few tools, a blade mold, and a half a chest worth of tin. She had it when she moved the wagon to the back of the forge for loading, it had jabbed her back when she sat down. Or had it? Was it just the sheath?

Eira would have seen it in the seat climbing down, so she knew that it wasn't still in the wagon. Was it there when she had fled? Ever since the cerfew had been instated, it had been getting more and more difficult to navigate during the night, and a patrolman she'd never seen on her stakeouts almost caught her. Eira had to snuff his torch. At no point did she hear her blade fall out. 

It was no use. Wherever it was, it wasn't in her home.

When she gave up on the prospect of finding it again, Eira grabbed every sharp object in the house. None met her purpose. Too dull. Too short. Bad grip, or otherwise concerningly unwieldy. She could, and did, get what was within reach easily enough with what was on hand, but she'd already missed a day and every day beyond that was an increasing risk of blowing her cover, especially in the summer work clothes so often required of her.

She needed a new knife. And she needed it now.

Eira ran through her agenda for the day. She had a meeting to get to around the sixth hour for her charity project when the sun was at its highest, but her morning was clear so she readied herself for that just in case her trip took longer than she thought.

When she reviewed her red shirt in the mirror, she nodded to herself.

Bit delicate... But it's comfortable, aaaand it matches my hair!

She immediately scolded herself for being shallow and continued to get ready to leave, putting her things away as she did. Once she was satisfied, she grabbed her silver and nearly gave herself a splinter when she braced her door to lock it. A warm breeze tickled its way past.

The road to the crafts district was even more ragged than her home. Locals called it the Miser's road because their Buruzagi hadn't done much in the way of fixing it leaving that responsibility to the very few people who bought a property in the area, mostly well-off foreigners who decided to settle after escaping the United Kingdoms of Stogh. Hers had been a gift, bought for her in secret after her team lead found her sleeping in the back of an outreach wagon.

"It just won't do," she had told Eira when she complained, "We can't have our founder sleeping on the streets. What would the refugees think if they found out you were homeless? They'd stop accepting their meals and make you take them instead, then where would we be?"

Eira still wasn't sure if she forgave her for spending all the charity's funds on the property, despite her love of having even a leaky roof over her head.

The crafts district was much nicer than the Miser's road, and currently full of novice coppersmiths warming up their master's supplies. Some of the earlier risers had even begun pouring new casts or sharpening the final products from the previous night. She found one such smith, a portly man with broad shoulders wrapping a sword hilt when she inquired after his wares.

"And you said this knife was for...?"

"My brother," she lied. "He liked hunting and I want to give him something special. Also, do you have any whetstones for sale? Mine's a sandy breeze away from uselessness and my knives are wearing out faster than I'd like."

"Sure, got dozens for sale. Though I don't have any oil I can spare for them right now, the city guard bought the last of my stock after the rains, and I haven't been able to get more."

"That's alright, I still have plenty."

"Hmm... I think... I might have one that's close to what you're in the market for... Stay right there, I'll be back."

The smith set down his project and went to his weapon racks, pulling out drawers and inspecting their contents. After the fourth, the smith said, "Aha! Gotcha you little snake," and pulled out a bronze straight blade with a hooked handle, leather-wrapped, and about the length of her forearm when measured tip to table.

"It doesn't have a ringed handle like you asked for but-"

"No," Eira smiled, "It's perfect. How much silver for it?"

"Silver? Quarter the weight, standard rate, plus two coins for the stone."

"That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"Prices have been going up since the war started; there's nothing I can do about it."

"Fine. Deal."

Eira forked over her coin and was given a simple sheath along with her blade and whetstone. She hadn't brought a bag along, so she hid the blade in her sleeve for lack of a more comfortable place to stow it and pocketed the stone before beginning her walk back home.

The morning sun beamed over the rooftops into the cobbled streets. Hiding in the shade of one of the buildings on the other side of the road was a group of street rats wearing mismatched clothes that were strangely clean considering how much dirt covered their faces.

One of them, an ugly woman with a dozen bracelets of various qualities, elbowed a grisly man with a wrinkled ear she was standing next to. The man looked up from whatever he was working on when she directed his attention towards Eira. His eyes were set to oogling and he shouted, "Hey there gorgeous! Wanna have a good time!?"

Why are you encouraging him!?

Others in the group also started saying quite a bit about her shape and texture after they noticed, but Eira simply shouted back, "Sorry boys, I'm already spoken for!"

And you probably wouldn't last as long as him in a fight or in bed. Pigs.

Their continued jeers faded away behind her as she walked. When she could no longer hear them, she began to daydream about one of her last formal celebrations in Krundíl before she'd been assigned to her mission. As she thought about how Calix had tripped over an ice sculpture her trainer had made for it, a strange incense brought her back to the present. Following her nose, she found herself looking at a large, ornate tent. Its beauty struck her until a group of priests stepped out of it, at which point she suddenly found it unappealing and decidedly turned in the direction they weren't going, even knowing it would take her longer to get home.

Pompous thieves. Maybe I'll hustle them next.

Once she thought she wouldn't see the priests again, she started to turn a corner back to her main round when a thought entered her mind.

You're being followed.

Her head snapped behind her and...

Nothing...

Not even a breeze...

Her jaw clenched as she squinted down the empty road. After watching for a moment, she pushed her sleeve under the hook of the knife handle and continued with her arms crossed, occasionally glancing behind her as she went. The air chilled. A bead of sweat tried to form on her forehead but quickly evaporated under the sunlight.

Old habits took over, and instead of heading home, she detoured even further off towards the town square. Ahead of her, a few groups of homeless refugees were huddled in the shade,

Footsteps closed in behind her. Her pace quickened as she spied a crowded main road off in the distance, feeling both completely exposed and boxed in. She half walked, half jogged to create distance and make it before-

The world slowed as her hand moved without thinking, ripping the knife from its sheath and slashing behind her into the outstretched hand of that same grisly man, cutting his fingers clean off in a single stroke. He recoiled and backed off, only to be replaced by two more.

"GUARDS!"

She could have taken them down easily, but she didn't want to risk being blamed unjustly.

"GUARDS HELP!"

She ducked underneath a grapple and stabbed at a leg before fleeing.

"GUARDS!"

She needed a witness.

Eira sprinted into an alley that she knew went towards a guardpost, but just as suddenly as she'd attacked, a meaty hand grabbed her shirt, tearing it halfway down her back as she spun to slash his throat before he could say what she knew he'd seen.

The jangling of armor plates grew steadily closer from behind her. Eira swore to herself and pressed her back against the wall right as a flash of bronze ran past the alley exit.

She shrilly screamed, "OVER HERE! HELP!"

A second guardsman slid to a stop at the entrance, armored in a full set of lamellar plates with a solid bronze helmet. He gave a shrill whistle to someone she didn't see, then drew his blade, shouting "In the name of Buruzagi Jormund Skov, you are all under arrest for assault of a woman and attempted banditry!"

All six of the remaining men turned to the guard. The one furthest from him yelled, "Bail!" And turned tail the way they came, only to be tackled by a patrolman leaping from his horse and into his chest as he got to the street. Eira pretended to cower.

More guards poured in behind them until a total of ten surrounded the gang, two of which stationed themselves directly between her and them until they were all rounded up. Eira mentioned as pitiably as possible the ones she'd injured on the road.

"They-they tried to-"

"It's alright Miss. They won't be hurting anyone anymore."

She allowed her battle energy to course through her, playing up her fearful facade, all the while keeping her back hidden from view. 

The guards apprehended the street gang with little difficulty, despite their resistance. Most of the guards left with their new prisoners, leaving Eira alone with the two guards who had defended her. Eira slid her way up the rough wall

"Thank you," she sniffled. "I was so s-scared. They-they saw me on the r-road and that woman... I-I don't know what she wanted... I-I had to defend myself, I couldn't just let them-"

The first guard hushed her as she started to get louder.

"It's okay, Miss, everything is okay now. What matters is that you're safe. You did the right thing. You went for help and did what you could."

The second guard stared at her with curiosity while the first was trying to de-escalate.

"Hey, does she look familiar to you?"

"She should, we guarded one of her rallies three months ago."

"One of her- Wait, are you Chamile Fern?"

Eira nodded to the guard and sniffled, then tried to reach for her new shirt flap to cover her back.

"Maker's breath! Ha! What a small world we live in."

The first guard saw Eira trying to cover herself and asked, "Are you hurt?"

"What? N-no, sir. They just tore my shirt is all."

"Let's have a look at you."

"No, no, it's fine, I'm just trying to protect my modesty, really I'm fine."

"Stress can make you blind to injuries ma'am, I speak from personal experience." While he was speaking, the second started to try and get a look behind her. "It's better for us to see it and clean it now than for you to ignore it and have it cause problems later."

When the second touched her back near the tear, Eira shouted, "NO!" and slammed herself against the wall, wincing since she actually did hurt herself this time.

The first guard gave an exasperated sigh. "See, now look what you've done."

"Is it a tattoo? Look, we've all done things we're not proud of, we promise we're not going to say anything."

"I'll have my people look at it when I get home," she lied. "Please, I don't feel comfortable with men looking at me bare. All I want is to leave." 

"Don't be unreasonable, we just want to-"

The first guard interrupted, "No. Let it go. She doesn't want our help."

"But-"

"Let it go, High Guard. We're only making things worse." He stepped out of her way. Eira nodded to him nervously. She pulled the flap of her shirt back up to her shoulder and tried to grip it shut from the bottom with her other hand. She walked towards the alley exit, careful to keep her front towards the two guards, and when she made it to the street-

"Look out!"

A horse bumped into her, sspinning her in place and knocking her shirt loose from her grip.

"Hey, watch where you're going," said the rider as he passed by, completely oblivious to the horror on Eira's face.

One mistake.

One mistake was all it took.

One mistake and two years of careful planning  became sand on the wind in less than a second.

She slowly turned back to the guards. The calm before the winds.

They looked at her, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"Is that..."

She had faked the fear before.

But now?

Now it was real.

Eira bolted from the two guards and ripped a suncloak off of a sleeping refugee faster than anyone else could react.

Behind her, one of them shouted, "Stop that woman! She's stricken!"

She couldn't help but scowl as she threw the cloak on.

Being ukitu isn't a disease, you-

Her thoughts were interrupted when two more guards cut off her escape. Without slowing down, she grabbed onto a clothesline post and redirected herself towards another alleyway.

"After her!"

As she pulled the hood low over her head, she spied an open window at the end of the alley leading into an old home and leapt feet first through it. A woman shrieked as she landed right in her kitchen.

Out of the sandstorm and into the dunes! Eira you idiot!

She couldn't slow down to apologize. She needed to move. Through the house Eira ran, ducking past the two men who rushed to the woman's aid, and bolted up the indoor stairs towards the second floor. She heard the residents chasing after her and guardsmen shouting from outside.

At the top of the stairs, she found herself in a bedroom, four open windows, one door, a handrail outside. Without thinking she kicked the door open.

"Up there!"

Slings snapped and stones whistled by as she raced down the balcony and leapt onto the roof of the neighboring building. Before she could make it across, another guard was lifted onto the roof from the alleyway.

Guards back home were never this persistent!

He was faster than she expected too as he managed to reach her right as she got to the edge of the building and tackled her off the side. She managed to twist them in the air and used the guard as a cushion when they hit the streets below.

Winded, she broke free from his grip and continued to run.

He got up like he wasn't even phased.

How the shit!? That's not fair!

They chased her through the backstreets and alleys, always spotting her when she thought she was clear. Impossibly coordinated. Her heart pounded. Her lungs burned. And yet they wouldn't stop.

She eventually ended up cornered in a tucked-away street. Five guards surrounded her and blocked her only exit. They weren't even winded.

"Nowhere to run, stricken."

The guard was right. There was no chance of escape without a fight.

"Then... I guess... I'm done running... You should have... left well enough... alone... because now I have to kill... every single one of you."

The guardsmen laughed. 

"You really think you can take five of the best of Thruf in your state? Give up now Chamile, and we'll make sure your punishment is merciful."

"My mission is too important... to surrender."

"Then you leave us no choice."

Eira grit her teeth.

And neither do you.

She raised her hands and called upon the power that filled her from within.