It was curiously dark as she strode forward, but Stormy didn’t mind the shadows when they weren’t leaping at her legs. The darkness itself wasn’t something to fear after all: just the things in it.

She found herself in a simple room, albeit a large one lit only by a single torch and with rocky, uneven walls for the most part. But a spacious room nonetheless. Cooler air seemed to suck her in as she stepped forward, invisible tendrils seeping into her legs, carrying them forward with a dull life of their own. And there was life in this place, however muted. She could feel it in her bones, thrumming in the air– or perhaps she was imagining things in her half-asleep state.

Then again, she was always seeming half-asleep, no matter how alert she truly was. All through life she walked with a thin haze of a barrier over her eyes and over her heart. Sometimes a disconnect was the only way to cope, so why turn it off?

The weapons certainly wouldn’t without their help, according to the life tech she’d met with a few minutes before.

A wall loomed before her filled with soft lights of every color, thin lines separating the tiles until it was like looking into the scales of a sleeping snake or dragon. She drew closer and slightly pursed her lips in thought, losing herself in the small but intricate threadwork of light and color each tablet had: a pistol there, a jagged-edged staff there, crossed gauntlets over there . . . Weapons to be sure, but in a different manner than she suspected.

But she liked them this way: stone silent and only offering light, as tall as a hand but beautiful in their simplicity. Her father’s gun collection used to frighten her because it existed, like simply thinking about it would pull a trigger. Protection, yes, but at a price, a kickback, an unsettling doubt in the pit of her stomach that one day in a suicidal rage he would unlock those doors. Here she could gaze upon the tablets without fear. Far away from her dad. Far away from that life of fear and loathing.

While trainees would take perhaps ten minutes, fifteen at most, she spent about half an hour in the room. Standing and touching. Sitting and listening. The faint brush of whispers and memories fascinated her even though none seemed to want to reach past the haze. How many stories lied here? So many more were beyond her reach . . . Was it possible that a candidate could walk out of here weaponless? What did they do to failures? Given it was an island by Patches’s description, probably kill them: not a lot of room to have people unable to defend themselves. But given how Patches had greeted her, there was a reason her pod had activated.

It was all idle conjecture really: she could feel something humming above the rest and had been for the past five minutes.

More than a hum, really. A computer starting up hummed. This was more like a feral creature waking up.

She was sitting when the noise began to spike in volume, filled with a thrumming that seemed to fill her entire body and that, strangely, seemed to be originating from her head; a vessel for bees disturbed into action. The noise gained a subtle quality to it, a harsher edge that cut through the mists of her mind and landed point first, ragged points and ravenous. A dull roar filled her ears, filled her mind, and filled her body, and she squeaked, ducked her head in response, and tried to hide her head. It was a foreign presence latching onto her very being and nestling itself into her every crack, slow and unstoppable.

The roar eventually devolved into a raspy, satisfied chuckle. < < Lae coi jalla qe. > > It was a voice that reminded her of oil poured over sharp glass, smooth and languid but hiding a cutting edge. A voice generated from her head like so many other voices before, but this time not of her own volition. < < Who is it that bows before me? > >

She kept her head ducked for a moment more before slowly raising it, eyes tracing the contours of each tablet to search for the one who spoke. There, to the left. “Me,” she answered as she got to her knees and crawled over; the tablet looked low enough to reach from the ground.

< < And that is? > > Thin patience. Derision.

A tablet throbbing with purple light was her target. She placed herself before it and gently placed her fingers on both sides, initiating an exchange of thoughts and images that suddenly sped faster than she could understand. Her mind was still recovering from her nap in the pod, but what the presence could glean seemed to be enough for now.

< < Ursalina Ortega? >> A snort. < < Humans will throw together anything for a name, won’t they. > >

“It isn’t mine. Hasn’t been for a couple of years.”

There was an audible pause, a small point of time in which the aura of contained self-importance the voice exuded weakened. And then it was as if it never happened. < < Then give me one I can use, Halfling, > >

“Hmm.” She pried the tablet from the wall with a soft schuck, gazing at the purple outlines of the sword as her fingers ghosted across them. “A sword in the stone . . . 1963. The only Disney movie of its decade to not have a sequel, platinum DVD, tv show, or live action remake.” A light smile played on her lips.

“Before I got here, they called me Tau.”

Another exchange of wordless thoughts. From her: Lion. Life. Twin Fangs. From him: An amused noise. The flick of a tongue between lips.

< < The name you chose. > >

“Stormy.”

< < Think it, toothpick. Let me see what lies behind the word. > >

“There isn’t . . .” There isn’t a lot behind it yet. I only just woke up.

< < Hmph. There is time yet for all things. > > There was a satisfied ring to his purr. No more dreamless sleeping; at last, a chance to see action.

Will you tell me your name too?

< < More than that. > > The stone tablet sparked to life, and as she opened her eyes she was able to watch the etched sword become a real one, lengthy and heavy in her lap, shards of purple gleaming up at her like eyes. < < I am the dracolich Thane Greatmaw, and also Warfang, Prowler, the Bone Breaker. Wield me well, and our enemies will bow before us. > >

Another roar filled Stormy’s head and made her clutch at her temple with a wince. Can I go deaf from mental howling?

Thane made an affronted scoff. < < I certainly hope not. I was only yawning. > >