MELITA
As the other woman seemed to sense some keen edge of familiarity too, the youth tilted her head, striving to perceive and understand where those layers met and unfurled. Hotaru felt like a recognized title, but from where and when? She tested it in her brain several times, stretching the synapses, the broadening expanse. “Where are you from? I was born in Helovia, the Dragon’s Throat, and then I had to go to the Rift.” Nothing else of the story lacquered, the rest sticking to her tongue. Maybe this was one more individual from a world long since left behind, with its sacrificial fringes and devastating losses. She considered the next question, with its collective parameters, particulars, and problems. On impulse, she might’ve said yes on anything or everything – steel upon steel, fast and furious. Except she wasn’t totally capable with them yet, and most of her training sessions had been safe, neglecting the time Loren broke her leg, or anything she’d ever unraveled with Kiada. Her eyes went briefly to Fangorn, nestled amongst the sand, knowing full well she didn’t have any bandages with her either. It would’ve been a smart, clever thing to have, which, unfortunately, she had the tendency to not be. “I haven’t done a lot of hand to hand,” at all, really – but how much more different could it be all the other techniques and weaponry she’d utilized in her short lifetime? “Would you be willing to show me?”
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
