## Story 1 ![9-1.png](/uploads/9_1_5c9bd5da55.png) A lone woman silently walks beside a sparkling sea where sunlight glistens on the water.
She is elegance personified, her black swimwear giving her the appearance of a gossamer
butterfly. This place is not her home. Rather, she has come here to complete a single mission.
She has been tasked with slipping aboard a nearby ship and stealing a person's life. For this
woman is an assassin. But though this is not her home, the place is not entirely unfamiliar. She
has been here once before—long, long ago. As she gazes out at the light playing over the water,
she thinks back on that time.

She was young then—so young—her spirit not yet worn thin by the passing of years.
She journeyed to this place as part of her rigorous training, tasked with locating a corrupt
politician from a rival country. Then, as now, the port was a lively place, with ships from around
the world moving in and out on a regular basis. It was a city filled with all manner and races of
people, and no one paid any mind to the innocent girl who walked among their number. This was
exactly how she wanted it; the more they overlooked her, the easier it would be to gain the
information she sought. After a bit, she learned her target would soon be attending a political
gathering aboard a ship. But she did not know the identity of the ship, and their number was
legion. If she were to sneak aboard the wrong one, all of her careful planning would be for
naught. But as the girl pondered this dilemma... A shock raced through her body. Focused as
she had been on the ships, she did not notice the young boy running along the pier and had
smashed straight into him. ## Story 2 ![9-2.png](/uploads/9_2_aef8be4b26.png) The girl on a mission collided with a young boy along the water's edge. Though clad
in fine clothing, he raised his voice in a most undignified howl as he lay upon the ground.
Blood trickled from an injured knee. As passers-by began to turn and stare, the girl knew
she could not leave the boy as he was.

As she began tending to his wound, she asked him: "Where are your parents?
Can I take you to them?" But the boy's lowered head only shook back and forth slowly.

"I don't know where my father is," he said in a wavering voice.
"All I know is that he's leaving soon for an important meeting."

The boy's voice hitched on the edge of a sob. As it did so, a thought came to the girl.
Perhaps his father is the one I seek. If the boy was the son of a politician, it would explain his
fine dress. With this in mind, the girl cheerfully agreed to help him find his missing parent.
His eyes glistening with tears, the boy handed her something in a wordless gesture of thanks.
It was a small, scuffed figurine of a kind and dignified woman. She was the heroine of a fairy
tale told and retold in the boy's native land.

"She's you!" said the boy as he broke out into a smile.
But the girl just looked away. Because she knew she did not help the boy out of kindness. ## Story 3 ![9-3.png](/uploads/9_3_5aa453f49a.png) The girl needed to locate the politician's ship as soon as possible. Grasping the boy's
hand, she began pulling him up the beach, hoping against hope he would see a familiar sight.
Suddenly, his face brightened. "Father!" he cried as he slipped from her hand and began to
run. The girl took off after him. Turning around, the father smiled as his son leapt into his
waiting arms.

"There you are!" he said.
"You almost made me miss my meeting."

The father tilted his head to mutter a word of thanks to the girl, then began carrying his son
onto the ship. A sliver of a smile flickered across the girl's face before vanishing as quickly as
it came. Almost as if it was never there at all. This was her ship. All that remained was to make
her way aboard and learn what she could.

She immediately began formulating her plan. But as her mind whirled, she noticed a
woman moving silently into place behind her. The woman was familiar, for she came from the
girl's own house. She had been sent to the port to monitor the girl and ensure the mission was
a success. But they were never supposed to interact. Her appearance could only mean one thing:
The situation had changed.

The woman leaned down and whispered fiercely in the girl's ear:
"He means to declare war. We must act. Leave none alive." ## Story 4 ![9-4.png](/uploads/9_4_263d38b611.png) The deck was slick. The corpses were still. Her blade was red. In less time than it takes
to draw a breath, the girl and her monitor had slaughtered every last person on the ship. The
woman wiped the blood from her blade with a practiced hand and spared a glance at her charge.

"Ever seen this many bodies before?" Though the girl would not meet her gaze, she nodded slowly.
"Of course. Too many times to count." The woman chuckled.
"Right, right. Forgot you're the boss's daughter." The girl sheathed her blade in silence.

By chance, her eyes darted to the water, where she saw the figurine she had received slowly
bobbing up and down. Hearing the boy's words in her mind, she dropped her eyes. He was right.
She was exactly like the figure—a helpless thing being tossed about, an assassin forever at the
mercy of the waves.

Years have passed since that day. The woman shakes her head to clear her thoughts as
a bell rings out announcing the arrival of a ship. She knows her targets are aboard. They are
foreign politicians who scheme to infiltrate her homeland. Her mission is to prevent that—
by whatever means necessary. The woman stands some distance away and watches the
passengers disembark. One particularly large man steps off clad in nothing but a loincloth.
Must have been hot in there, thinks the woman idly. But the next person to step off brings a
small shiver of delight. It is her target. Her lord's orders were clear: She was to prevent the
invasion of her homeland. She was to kill the target with all speed. It was the same reason
she had stained another ship in crimson all those long years ago. The reason why she took
the life of the young boy. And the reason why she still remembers the figurine to this day.
The one that was exactly like her.

A haze of melancholy passes over her face as she looks out over the distant horizon.
I wonder where that thing drifted off to. But she shakes off her momentary fugue and begins
walking after her target. The footprints she leaves in the sand are stolen away by the waves.

type

category

Accord’s Library

library

contents

wiki

chronicles

news

gallery

archives

about_us