Hanna had spent the day after the mission with the rotting, walking bodies trying to acquaint herself with this new world. She still didn’t regret her choice to come here, but the young woman had begun to wonder whether she might have bitten off more than she was able to chew. Could she truly handle the pain of believing that she would die every single day? Would all of those stresses break her, or make her stronger? When her head hit the pillow at night, she only saw the gyrating bodies slumping closer and closer to her.

That morning, Hanna had woken up early, showered, and eaten a light breakfast. Her choice of clothes prior to leaving her old life had been a hasty one. She left out most shoes and extra pants to keep books. It was a decision that seemed good at the time, but Hanna had quickly begun to realize that she needed more than one skirt, one pair of pants, two pairs of running shorts, and some assorted tops. One pair of Converses and one pair of laced boots had proven to be limiting as well. At this rate, she would have to do laundry every five days.

The air outside was crisp and heavy with a light mist of morning dew. Hanna breathed it in, closing her eyes. She wasn’t just up early for the air. She was here for a purpose. Today was the day that she was going to the cove. Her night had been wracked by dreams, nightmares really. What would be there for her? Would this be another test for her to pass? And more importantly, could she do it?

Her prickling thoughts helped pass the time it took for Hanna to walk from the dormitory to the cove itself. Golden eyes passed over the entrance. After drawing in a slow breath, Hanna tilted her chin upwards and disappeared out of sight.

Upon descending the stairs, Hanna saw that the cove appeared more like a small room than the vast, wet space she had expected. The entire area was cast in darkness save a single torch against the far wall. Hanna took out her cellphone and unlocked it. The blue glow helped, but not by much. Hanna still had to cautiously shuffle to be sure of her footing.

When she got closer to the wall with the torch, Hanna began to slowly notice its strange characteristics. It was a patchwork of tiny stone tablets, only a few inches larger than her own hand when laid flat. Each square bore a strange mark and a subtle glow. “What is this?” she whispered to the emptiness. Hanna had always been equal parts confident and curious.

Her fingertips reached out, pausing just before she made contact. The lines and curves of the runes had seemed strange at first, but at a second glance, Hanna recognized the slope of a boomerang, the narrow edge of a blade, and the bent curve of what looked like a bow. Weapons. Each one had a different weapon etched onto its surface.

Instead of touching each one, Hanna preferred to stare at each one with a critical eye, bringing her face inches away. She did this for ten minutes, but the wall was massive. Toward the far left, a few rows down from what Hanna perceived to be the middle, the teenager paused. Something like electricity had snapped across her cheek. She straightened suddenly, rubbing at her cheek. Squatting down, Hanna lifted one hand out, moving it across the tiles like a divining rod.

There was a tingling in her fingertips that ebbed and flowed as she moved her hand. Hanna moved back and forth until her hand hovered over two tiles. One had some sort of double-sickled shape glowing a faint yellow and the other had a pale blue hatchet.

Wrong.

Hanna froze. “Wrong?” she echoed. Her hand moved toward the blue hatchet. A sharp hum vibrated in her fingertips, but instead of drawing her closer toward the one she had been reaching for, Hanna felt herself compelled almost to lean toward the other. Chipped nails touched at the tablet, fingers gripping the edges.

What was she waiting for? There was a tension in the air. The vibration, the feeling, the whisper of something at the back of her neck. The longer she held on to the tablet, the stronger the sensation became. Just as the buzzing moved toward crescendo, Hanna tugged the stone tablet as hard as she could, tumbling backwards.

Fingers that had once gripped stone now felt a wrapped leather grip. Hanna fell to the ground, and something metal skipped hard into the ground, glancing over the slick surface. The weight in her lap was heavy.

You cannot be serious. I choose you, tiny little you, to wield me, and the first thing you do is DROP me. There was a snort of disapproval.

Hanna looked down. In her lap, she saw a double-bladed weapon with wide, golden blade. It was vicious-looking: all sharp edges and dramatic curves.

Yes, drink it in. I don’t blame you. Are you a pretty thing? Oh, I hope you’re pretty. Not as pretty as me, of course, but then again no one is.

One eyebrow jumped upward. “Who is talking to me?” she said quietly, as if speaking that phrase too loudly would end with her committed.

You’re a smart girl. Take a guess.

There was a lilt to the voice, a feminine slant. Something about it felt rehearsed, but Hanna couldn’t put her finger on it. Besides, she was too busy staring wide-eyed at the giant weapon in her hands that seemed capable of telepathy. The tingles that rattled in Hanna’s arms were not out of fear, not plainly. It was excitement, thrill, and curiosity.

“You are a talking weapon,” Hanna said. She took a moment to process it. “Okay, you’re a talking weapon.”

So adaptable. I do adore that sort of flexibility in an attendant. There was a smugness in the tone. Hanna had no idea what it meant. It is unreasonably dark in here, don’t you think? How about you use those skinny little poles you call legs and wobble us out into the open air? You can’t imagine how stifling it is in here, and we do have quite a bit to talk about, you and I.

Keeping silent had never been Hanna’s forte, but the wonder of her talking weapon had her eyes wide and her mind spinning. It was the exact kind of excitement she wanted. A talking weapon. A talking weapon!

As if the weapon sensed it, the woman replied, Yes, I know. Very exciting. I’m more than meets the eye, I’ll have you know. I have transcended my corporeal bondage. I have cast off the shackles of walking with legs and sweat and sleep and all of that nonsense. To be carried for the rest of eternity – sounds like a dream, no?

“It sounds lazy,” Hanna said. “I’m sorry – I’m a little lost here. You were a tile on a wall.”

The voice radiating from the weapon in her hands sighed. Oh, I do hope you are not this slow for much longer. If you die, I’m back on that wall and… She trailed off. Tell me your name.

“Hanna,” the hunter replied. She frowned at herself for answering so readily.

How simple, the voice replied. It didn’t sound like a compliment. Well, Hanna the Hunter, I am The Lady, and you will have the privilege of laying waste to every field of battle until the day your body quits on you and you rot away, become part of the dirt, and whatever else it is that you people do.

Hanna stopped walking abruptly. She was not accustomed to being talked to like this, and the only reason it had gone on this far was because of her general shock and awe. “Excuse me, but I could always set you down on the floor of this cave and disappear out that door forever. You have the advantage of information on me. This is hardly an even playing field for you to be so goddamn condescending,” she said. That bit about “laying waste” sounded pretty good, but Hanna wanted to make it clear that she would not be belittled.

There was a pregnant pause. Hanna imagined she could hear the gears turning in the weapon’s brain. (Did she have a brain?) I am also known as Adelphe in informal circles. Let’s not waste more time, Hanna. I have some answers for you, if you’re interested in learning more. Just like that, the weapon struck at Hanna’s weakness. Information? Enlightenment?

With both of their wants on the line, the two fighters fell into silence. Neither wanted to cave, but neither wanted to be left alone: either Adelphe in the cove or Hanna in the dark of information. After a few minutes, Hanna began to walk. She held The Lady lightly in her hands, careful not to scrape the blades on the walls as they moved up the stairs and out into the gleaming sun of the morning.

Adelphe and Hanna: it was the start of a bright, beautiful pissing contest.