Display Cabinets

Upon the room's mantelpiece, a resplendent onyx stand gleamed with refined luster: the dignified katanakake. The eloquent display featured two hands with hooks, cradling the room's centerpiece as if a warrior's offering to the heavens. Resting on this bewitching katanakake was a magnificent treasure—a sleek silver blade with mottled metal flowing like water over her illustrious surface. At the blade's base, a deep rose gold collar wrapped around it, the roseate surface featured upon her, like a crowned jewel, a brilliant copper heart. Past her collar sat the sword's rounded guard of shimmering lacquered purple heart wood. The soft purple wood accentuated the inlaid pattern of violet Tourmaline hearts that danced around the guard. An elongated hilt followed after, wrapped with a thick braid of lavender silk. Diamond gaps in the wrapping were inlaid with multiple black opals carved into a blooming rose along the length of the handle. She was a katana as famed as she was revered; she was the mythical Ishin-Denshin.

Together, Ishin-Denshin and her katanakake stand formed a brilliant symbol of opulence, starkly emphasized by the plain room they dominated. It was an empty hall if not for the mantlepiece and her jeweled adonis. The large and spacious place held only battered wooden floors and walls, silent witnesses to the centuries of combat sanctified within. In this empty room, only a girl knelt in quiet contemplation.

The girl was a small thing, wafer thin, and below average height; the round doe eyes and full red lips popped next to that perfectly smooth, warm ivory skin. The head was shaved with naught but an ugly tuft of brown hair tied in a topknot that demarred the female specimen. The hair and glaring eyes chafed the view, but below that, it was all beauty.

The girl's adorned clothes were a dark black, pleated hakama skirt over a light grey kimono that clung to the girl's sweaty body in a way which emphasized every curve. It was a perfect hourglass figure formed by childrearing hips and eager, voluptuous breasts. Below that, the tight-fitting clothes hugged alluringly to a shapely derriere and drew the eyes to lithe legs.

The kneeling girl faced Ishin-Denshin, her eyes glaring as sharp as the blade she observed. Each deliberate breath drawn through her nose carried a grave intensity. Her heart pounded harshly in her chest as if it could burst free from the confines of her generous bosom at any moment. She looked down to the wooden stick lying on the floor before her. A real sword would be considered far too dangerous and heavy for a lady, their soft hands too weak to even hold this practice sword designed for men. She grabbed the prop and stood up.

"I'm ready." The dainty girl spoke with a delicately meek voice, as a female's voice should be. A heavily built man entered the room, muscles bulging beneath his sturdy frame. The man clutched a wooden blade of his own; the weapon fit comfortably in his powerful hands, emanating an aura of nobility and strength.

"Remember, you can't speak of this." The girl delivered her rebellious words with unwavering firmness. There was something about the way she spoke that seemed unbefitting of a gentle damsel; the words seemed to cut sharply, sullying the girl's otherwise beautiful aesthetic.

She finally turned to face the man who towered nearly two heads above her. The man assumed a poised, dignified warrior stance, pointing his sword at the girl. In response, she mimicked his positioning, but the way her face held a severe glare and how she tilted her toy towards her opponent had a certain cuteness to it. The girl spoke curtly with an authority she shouldn't have. "Begin."

The burly warrior lunged forward, swiftly bringing his weapon down onto the girl. A near lackadaisical lean had the training sword catch naught but cloth. Then, in a snap of motion, she thrust her sword past his defense towards his exposed chest, stopping dead before contact, sending a whoosh of air to ruffle his clothes. As quickly as the explosive combat commenced, it ended. The girl stepped back and relaxed her stance.

"You're holding the sword too far from your body; you won't be able to defend yourself from your opponent's retaliation." She circled around the boy as he held his position. With her wooden sword, she pushed back his chest, bent his elbows and crooked his knee. "Let's try again, but remember, power is about control, not strength."

The boy formally responded. "Yes, sensei Épée!" 

They resumed their training session for nearly an hour. Épée meticulously guided him through various drills and techniques, her discerning eye leaving no room for error. Every stumble and gaffe was punished with a curt correction. Every word purposeful, never interrupted by meaningless chatter. By the hour's end, the boy was weary and exhausted, his clothes drenched in sweat. He struggled to speak through heaving breaths, voice dripping with appreciation. "Thank you so much for the lesson, sensei Épée."

Épée snickered when he gave her a full ninety-degree bow. "I told you that you don't need to be formal with me; in fact, you probably shouldn't."

As the man collapsed onto the harsh wooden floors, Épée prepared him a cup of cool water. He took the cup and feverishly downed the thing in one fell swoop. Épée spared him a smile before making her way back to the center of the room. With a flourish of her hakama skirt, she knelt down facing that deific blade: Ishin-Denshin. She placed her own insignificant wooden toy in front of her. Letting out a deep, practiced breath, she asked the boy. "How many more are waiting outside?"

"I think twenty or so."

She sputtered at the unexpected response. "They're not all crowded together, are they? Tell them I only have time for five more; have them sort it out between themselves and invite the next one in."

"Yes, sensei."

Épée cast a sharp glare at the purple katana, her eyes fixed, burning holes into its ornamentation. The echoes of footsteps reverberated behind her as another well-toned man entered the room. He carried himself with a hint of meekness, hesitating to address Épée who was fully engrossed in her concentration. Nervously, he spoke up, "I was told I could come in?"

Épée silently stared at that sharp blade, each breath deep and controlled. The rhythmic flow of concentration continued undisturbed, and soon, faint spouts of flame sputtered from her nostrils on every exhale. After a few more of these breaths, her meditation ended; she picked up her practice sword and stood up. "Yes, let's begin."

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After about five hours or so, she had finished her tutoring and was left alone in that empty room with no one in it. She gave a fleeting glance to Ishin-Denshin ordained on her stand before commencing the task of tidying up. She swept the sweat-slicked floor and gathered the trinkets left by pupils too exhausted for remembrance. She worked with the dedicated and silent vigil of a maid, all the while under the unforgiving gaze of that legendary sword.

Once finished, she made her way to her bedroom.

Her room was exceptionally large, with a long desk embracing the right wall with an expansive mirror standing proudly atop it. The desk was cluttered with countless documents and papers, vials of ink and feathered pens strewn abound. At the far end of the room, two sliding paper doors stood shut, one leading to her private bath and the other a luxurious wardrobe chamber, its latched door nearly bulging open from the plethora of decorative clothing kept within.

To her left lay her grandiose bed, which Épée headed straight for. Ignoring the prepared bed and fresh sheets, she slid the entire frame over to the side, revealing a loose floor plank underneath it. She removed the plank to access a hidden compartment. She placed the collection of her pupil's forgotten trinkets into the compartment. From the hideaway, she retrieved a uniquely large sleeve, nearly her size, containing a slender, rigid object. With it, she also grabbed a small bag of dried snacks. With her items obtained, she returned the loose plank and slid the bed back.

She stepped back and looked about her room, pondering all of the chores set for her today. She eagerly dismissed the concept and, instead, decided to visit the forest.

She made her way out of the mansion estate where she lived and into the city of Hearth proper. It was straightforward to find the way to the forest; she just had to follow the massive chains floating overhead. These giant chains connected the thick, robust support poles at the city's edge to the monstrous iron fortress in the city's epicenter. The fortress was a monumental beast of wrathful steel with titanic chimneys piercing the heavens, billowing out a darkened smog that swallowed the city whole. The Leviathan castle was so massive it demanded massive supports and chains to keep it from toppling.

Hearth's skyline was dominated by smog, and iron links the size of buildings. That fortress, however, was opposite to where she was planning on going. She followed the chains away from the fortress to the city's edge.

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On her walk through empty side streets, the girl came across a dog. The meek dog had dirty, spotted brown fur clotted with blood. The dog was terribly mauled, its lower jaw missing, and a front leg broken. The two made eye contact from opposite ends of the street.

Épée, seeing the sad sight, reached into her bag of goods and pulled out a small stick of dried meat. Gently placing it on the ground, she stepped back, allowing the wounded dog some space, and patiently awaited its reaction. The dog, with its missing lower jaw, glanced down at the offered food and then back up at Épée. It cocked its head replying with an uncertain whimper.

For a while, they both stood in a silent exchange, ending when Épée decided to walk away. She left the treat on the ground. If the dog was hungry, it could make its way over to claim it.

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Before long, Épée arrived at the forest's edge and took in the familiar sight. The forest was comprised solely of barren trees, charred trunks of a dying wilderness. Occasionally, a tree would erupt in flames, angry lashes of fire feigning the illusion of full red autumn leaves. Épée could watch the arboreal blaze forever, imagining it being a beautiful, healthy tree. Such fantasies never lasted long, and in time, the tree would crumble to charcoal.

The forest floor was littered with a fine grey powder, its softness underfoot occasionally disrupted by the crunching sound of hard, brittle bones left behind by the vestiges of long-dead vermin. Perhaps outside of her homeland, one would not call this place a forest, but as this was all she knew, a forest it was.

She stood at the boundary of nature and civilization, the tree line forming a wall urging her to turn around and return whence she came. Épée ignored the silent pleas of the trees. With the long sleeve slung over her shoulder and treat bag sequestered under her kimono, she entered the forest.

Épée trudged through the woods, making her way to her usual spot. Upon arrival, she found that her small clearing was already occupied. Observing silently from the sidelines, she beheld a tall, muscular man with flaming red hair and freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. His shirt lay discarded on a fallen log at the clearing's edge, exposing his well-defined abs.

The man inhaled deeply through his nose, and upon exhaling, a tremendous bellowing flame roared out, consuming his body and the surrounding clearing. The fiery spectacle expanded to a great distance, dwarfing even the size of a house. The thick flames made it nearly impossible to discern the man's silhouette at the inferno's epicenter. Then, with another inhale, he retracted the fire back into his body. Any sweat formed upon his bod quickly evaporated to steam in the sweltering heat.

Before the man could take another breath, Épée walked in, stomping with deliberately loud steps, ensuring to make enough noise and even clearing her throat to ensure the man noticed her presence, she then announced as she walked into view "Flammable flesh coming through,". The man looked over to Épée and smiled. She pulled two dried sticks of meat from her bag and offered him one, biting down on the other. The man graciously accepted the food, placing the meat between his lips and going over to the fallen log. A pack leaned against the log, and the man retrieved from it a towel to wipe the soot from his body. While dabbing himself dry, he faced Épée and spoke. "I thought you weren't going to show today."

S he replied casually. "I managed to find some time," 

"You just skipped out on everything, didn't you?"

Épée let slip a coy smirk as she unslung the sleeve she carried and pulled out a long, unwieldy, sheathed sword as tall as her. The sheathe was a deep black, only marred by a single small red crack at its tip. She turned towards the man and asked. "And Scoria, why are you here today?"

"I have a lot of free time now to train for the Tournament."

Épée's mood swiftly soured, and her reply carried a bitter edge. "Oh yeah, of course, you'll be doing the elemental festival again."

Scoria corrected with excitement and awe. "Not the elemental festival. THE Tournament."

"Oh, is that this year? Why are you so confident you'll get invited?" Épée teased, drawing a chuckle from Scoria.

"The Tournament is a gladiatorial duel of the sixty-four greatest warriors in the world. It's obvious that I would be invited. The Sodality knows that there hasn't been anyone as in tune with the Hearth as much as me since the founder of the Sodality of Cinder. Rumor around the palace has it that it's already decided I'll be appointed as the next Phoenix. No one wants to get in the way of the 'genius's' training, so they're practically letting me do whatever I want. And who knows, if you get invited, not even your father could stop you from participating."

Épée pulled out her single-edged sword from the sheathe. The pitch-black blade was incredibly sharp and reflected the intense gaze of the day star into a thin, scorching focal point on the ground. She fixed her eyes on the burning spot, watching it ignite a small piece of rotting bark and mumbled with a deep sigh. "Sixty-four greatest, huh,"

"Yeah, I think you'd qualify. I could probably count the number of people more capable than you that I know on one hand."

"You're that confident that we're both that skilled?" Épée inquired.

Scoria laughed, "Well, I KNOW that I am. I'd say I'm about seventy percent sure you are. And if the two of us get an invitation, then obviously, that means Névé will get an invitation, too." A deep passion fluttered within the man's eyes.

"You know it's not attractive to be clingy." Épée teased again, but this time, the joke was met with an unapproving glare. Épée ignored him as she continued speaking. "Besides the fact that she's a water bug- "

"Not anymore." He quickly interrupted her.

Épée couldn't resist snorting at his defensive response: "Alright, sure. She's no longer a citizen of Rain. But even then, how are you sure that she is still alive? And if she is alive, what makes you think she hasn't thrown the fighter's life behind. Maybe she let herself go; she could be all fat and lazy now, for all you know."

"Our spy in the Sodality of Rain told us that they think Névé has joined forces with the White Witch."

Épée broke into an uncontrollable coughing fit at the surprising news. "White Witch! If Névé wasn't loathsome enough! Oh yeah, hardened criminal, that's much better than a water bug. What do you even see in that girl?"

"She just needs someone to talk some sense into her. And she's not a water bug." he insisted.

"And that'll be you? I can just imagine how much the chief loves you crushing on the enemy."

Scoria refused to respond, his cheeks flushing a vibrant red. "She's not fat or lazy. I think we both know that whatever has happened to her, she will only have gotten stronger, terrifyingly so." His voice became somber as he looked disappointed at his own body.

"You plan on facing her in the Tournament?" She waited for him to respond, but when he didn't, she continued. "Do you think you can win?" Still, there was no response. "Sixty-four, huh. I wonder what the gap between sixty-fourth and first is?"

The two stewed in silence for a bit, but neither was ever the idle sort and so they returned to their training. The man honed his fire manipulation while she dedicated herself to perfecting her swordsmanship. Many hours passed with the two training and bantering back and forth. It was a much more casual experience than the rigid, orderly tutoring earlier that day. With time, the day star descended, bringing a faint purple dusk to pierce through the smoggy sky and a call for Scoria's return.

Épée waved him off, a mischievous grin appearing on her face as she called out, "Bye, Prince Scoria."

Scoria reprimanded with a faux annoyance furrowing his face, though he still waved back as he left. "Please don't."

 Alone in the scorched forest clearing, Épée sat on the fallen log, contemplating a pair of numbers. Was she that good? Was she really worthy of an invitation? It didn't take long until she decided that sitting alone and pondering unlikely possibilities wasn't worth her time; she determined it was probably best to return. She sheathed her sword and placed it in its sleeve. She took a final glance at the scorched clearing and then made her way back to the house where she lived.

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Épée leisurely strolled down the now-empty evening streets in no rush to return to the house. As the day star descended and the thick film of smog blocked any stars from shining through, the city of Hearth was blanketed in an impenetrable darkness. The nights in Hearth were always black. Hearth's citizens, abiding by their environment's demands, usually slept early, leaving the nights in Hearth far quieter than those of most capital cities. She always enjoyed the lonely ambience, only accompanied by the moths playing by the choking street lanterns.

On this night, however, she was not wholly alone. Across the street, perfectly highlighted by lantern light, was a dog, a mangy mutt, lying perfectly still. The sole movement being that of the cacophonous buzzing flies swarming above it.

Épée paused, drawn to the curious sight, though as she approached, she quickly found but a lifeless corpse. Its lower jaw was missing, leaving it with only a rotting head, its teeth missing and replaced with the writhing of gluttonous maggots. The putrid odor struck her, forcing her aback. She glanced around to see if anyone was nearby, but no one could be found. She briefly considered the dead dog, but deciding there was nothing she could do, she resumed her walk. Amidst her stride, she heard a soft snap and felt a buckling pressure under her foot. Looking down, she discovered a crushed stick of dried meat. She walked to the house where she lived.

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Arriving at the massive manor, she navigated her way through, carefully avoiding any patrolling servants or guards as she snuck to her room. Once safe, she returned her sleeve and bag to their hiding spot. Just as she finished pushing her bed back into position, a man barged into her room. "Hey Épée, do you have the report?"

In a rushed panic, Épée dove into her bed and threw her sheets over herself, hiding her filthy clothes. "Brother, I could have been indecent! Please knock before intruding into my chambers."

Her brother, Rube, appeared nonplussed, then knocked twice against the wall. He repeated, "Hey, Épée. Do you have the report?"

Épée released an exasperated sigh. " Yes, brother, it's on the table, left stack."

Rube was much happier with that response, a big smile painting his face as he walked over to the desk. When he arrived, however, his face blanched. "The whole left stack?"

"The key points are underlined." Rube rifled through a couple of pages. Apparently happy with what he found, he gave her a thumbs-up and left the room.

Épée immediately tossed her sheets aside, a little disgruntled that her bed had been stained with sweat, and went to take a bath.

It was a bland, simple bath. It wouldn't do to wake the servants for this; that would bring too many questions. She drew a small tub of lukewarm water, soon corrected to a satisfying scorching heat with a few breathing exercises. Once washed, she returned to her room, glaring at the sweat-stained bed as her mind battled between lethargy and propriety until her shutting eyes had decided a winner, and she fell asleep.

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Épée was groggily awakened by the sound of rustling in her room. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, she discovered a young girl shyly hiding behind an older woman. Upon seeing the familiar elderly woman, Épée quickly shut her eyes and feigned sleep. The low growl and stomping steps told Épée that her ruse had failed.

The older woman angrily admonished Épée. "My Lady! What have we said about your sleeping habits?" Épée lay naked, her nightgown forgotten last night in her tiredness. Her sheets tossed all over the place, and her body splayed across the entire bed. Épée lazily sat up and slowly rubbed her eyes, turning to the damnable disturber of her repose.

The older woman huffed in annoyance, "You're making your poor servants' lives difficult when you act like this my Lady. Now Chattel, quickly help ready the Madam."

Épée loosed a weary groan as she flopped back down into bed and began collecting the sheets over her body while she tiredly slurred. "Why? I thought a 'Lady' needed her beauty sleep."

"The Master has invited you to eat."

"Tell him I'm occupied by my womanly duties."

The elderly woman cut off her growl as it formed, " It is noon; a proper Lady would be up and about by now. Now, the Master has asked for your presence at Lunch, and we wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

"Lunch?"

"You already ignored his invitation for breakfast."

Épée couldn't help the satisfied chuckle. "I did?"

The older woman stiffened in disgusted shock. "This is no laughing matter! Chattel, you are responsible for ensuring Épée arrives at Lunch."

The young girl obediently answered, "Yes, headmistress." and kept her head lowered until the older woman left the room. Chattel struggled to drag her Lady to the bath, beseeching the half-asleep Épée to cooperate as she guided her to the adjoined room. Once Épée dropped into that wonderfully hot water, it became all too easy to doze off, allowing Chattel to toil with washing her limp limbs as if playing with an inanimate doll.

In a laborious choreography involving an array of plethoric cleansing products much more convoluted than the ones Épée had used the previous night, Chattel was finally able to get Épée to, at the very least, smell human. She then managed to drag Épée back to her room, preparing for the ensuing battle of clothing. Throughout the whole affair, the second Chattel turned her back to get the next article of clothing, Épée began drifting back towards her bed.

Suppressing a whine, Chattel watched as Épée sprawled out on her bed, clad only in a pair of pants. "Ms. Épée, I will really be in a lot of trouble if you don't go to this lunch."

Épée stuffed her face deep into the soft new sheets smelling of roses on her bed. Some servants must have changed her bedding while she was in the bath. Though she knew not who these mysterious sheet changers were, they just found themselves at the top of her list of favorite helpers.

"Ms. Épée!"

"Alright, alright. Fine." Épée raised her hands in defeat and finally cooperated in her preparations. Chattel quickly dressed Épée and groomed her hair as much as possible despite its excessive shortness.

Within a few moments, she found herself in a room facing a long table with five other people. At the head of the table was her father; to his side were her mother and younger brother, Rube. Next to each of them was each of her youngest twin brothers. All five of them had a personal servant patiently standing at the ready along the dining hall walls.

"Épée, you're late." Her father commented apathetically without looking up from his half-emptied plate. Chattel quickly bowed to Épée's father and apologetically stuttered. "I'm sorry Master, I was-"

Épée coldly interrupted Chattel. "I was debating whether I was hungry or not." Chattel's face filled with panic, and she stole glances between Épée and her father but relaxed upon noticing the father was unfazed. Chattel walked to an empty seat next to one of the twins, which had an untouched plate before it. Chattel pulled the chair back, which Épée promptly sat into.

Épée spoke with an uncaring, monotonous voice. "Chattel, you are dismissed."

"But Ms.,-"

"I hate having you just stand behind me like that."

Chattel threw nervous glances between Épée and her father, then bowed and left the room. Épée turned her gaze to the plate before her and scoffed in disgust. While everyone else tried to ignore the discourteous grunt, her father was unwilling to let her impertinence go on. Rube quickly intervened before their father could start a spat. "As I was saying earlier, since the Sodality of Rain is making an attempt on the Pleurothallidinae, they will be in great need of armaments."

The attempted distraction did not go unnoticed, but their father still allowed it and responded to his son, "But why would we want to trade with them. We should let them crumble."

Rube leaned forward excitedly as he gulped down a fatty chunk of sausage. "The Pangean Entente is still fairly strong for now, and until the second human-mogwai war is officially declared over, it may continue to be so for the foreseeable future. Our Sodality's chief will surely want to take advantage of the Rain's weakened state, but he's locked in the Pangean treaty from officially declaring any hostilities. The nature of war is changing father, what I'm suggesting is a capital takeover. If we can force their industry to entirely depend on us, it would be the same as owning them."

Their father nodded his head in pensive understanding. "This all sounds very long-term, and I'm sure the chief wouldn't be pleased with us trading with the Sodality of Rain."

"I wasn't finished; it gets better. You see, according to the Pangean treaties rules on war contribution and land distributions of conquered territories, if we supply just thirty percent of their forces with our weapons, we'll have enough weight to claim one of the smaller islands in the pulchritudinous lake once their skirmish with the Pleurothallidinae is won. We can then gift the island to our chief and then we wouldn't even need to trade with the Sodality of Rain as we just trade with the island, and the residents there will naturally disperse the goods through the Sodality of Rain in normal local trade. We'd technically never even trade with the Sodality of Rain, except for the initial gifting at the beginning, which we'd do under the guise of military support through the Pangean alliance."

The father bellowed into a hoarse, guttural laugh. "It's brilliant! You know, son, I've been thinking. I'm getting old, and I wouldn't mind sitting out the rest of my days in a less authoritative, more relaxing position. Why should Bennu be the only old coot to have fun?"

One of the twins, shocked, rapidly spoke up. "The Phoenix is retiring!?"

Their father let out another mighty laugh. Unbeknownst to anyone else in the room, it was the boy's tragic naivete that their father found truly hilarious. "But you didn't hear it from me." He then turned back to his eldest son. "So, what do you think? Would you like to take over as leader of the clan?"

Rube stopped cutting his sausage. He looked up at his father, his mouth completely agape. "I- I don't know what to say, father."

"You're clearly smart enough; I'm sure you can take the clan to a whole new generation of prosperity-."

Épée finally spoke up, interrupting her father and destroying the wonderful atmosphere of the room. "There's no meat on my plate."

Her father rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Not now Épée, I was having an important conversation with your brother."

she continued, perturbed. "Why isn't there meat on my plate?" 

Épée's father couldn't resist heaving an exasperated sigh. His posture turned away from her brother and over to her. "You don't need meat."

"I like meat."

"You already have too much muscle; you could use some slimming."

"Doesn't the eldest inherit the clan?"

"The eldest had never been female before."

"Doesn't the eldest inherit the clan?"

Épée's father couldn't help let out another grieving sigh. "Not this again. We are a warrior clan; it can't be run by a woman. Besides, you are too young."

Épée shouted, throwing a pointed finger at her brother as he desperately tried to sink into his seat and out of notice. "Have you forgotten that I AM the eldest!? I'm nineteen, Rube is only fifteen!" 

"Rube has shown himself to be mature and skilled enough through years of aiding the clan."

"I could show you how skilled I was if you'd just let me hand in my own reports!"

Rube's eyes grew wide as he jumped from his seat. "Épée!"

"No, I'm done playing shadow puppets! Either give me the respect I deserve or start actually running things yourself." The whole family was stunned, confused by the raging girl. "What, you thought that the sudden boon of skill and funds in the clan was due to your work? Are you joking?"

Épée's father infuriated, slammed his fist on the table, the strike so hard the legs crackled. "Épée, that's enough!"

"No, I don't think it is! In fact I thi-"

A sudden bell chimed in the room. In the center of the table, there was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus that grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other shapes. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. Its weight on the table was the final strain, the legs snapping and the whole thing collapsing, causing the rigid human form to fall over. The pink intruder's arm, still outstretched in front of it, was now facing the ceiling covered in spilled food and drink. In its outstretched arm it held a glowing parchment for all to see: it read.

You have been invited to

The Tournament

You are the Repudiate

The father reached out, about to grab the parchment, when Épée's sharp voice stung his ears. "Don't. It's for me."