It had once been said that in times of trouble, men went to the Gods for answers. Ashir had long since abandoned the Gods, the God, the Spirits, and his ancestors ─ Wasn't it their fault, for all his problems? Because, inevitably, those problems were centered around his dear sister, Isa, the Guild Oracle. The Gods had given her the gift of foresight, and to pay for his twin's powers they had taken from Ashir his life.<br/><br/>He wasn't angry. His life was something he gave willingly to Isa. Her gift had brought a tentative peace to the places the Guild's influence reached. But Tenshika, the city the Guild had based itself in (and the city the actual headquarters dwarfed), seemed more dangerous than ever. Assassins had already tried to take Isa's life on multiple occasions. Ashir didn't beg the Gods for aid; his sister was the Oracle, and Ashir would protect her. The Gods had already given her foresight, and to ask for more would be unseemly.<br/><br/>"Only I can protect her," Ashir said, leaning up against an alley wall. He shut his eyes tightly, shoving away all other thoughts.<br/><br/>He needed focus.<br/><br/>In Sword, Magic, or Art, focus was key. It was the "mind" part of the mind-body union. If all other thought could be shoved away, if pain could be made to seem like someone else's, if exhaustion and thirst was another man's... The union became perfect. Twins had, in every story, been one of these aspects. Isa was Mind. Ashir was Body. Ashir began to focus.<br/><br/><em>I am the arm that holds the shield. I am the hand that looses the arrow. I am the guide of the blade and spell, the execution of the thought to protect,</em>the mantra began.<em>Death becomes as a feather, and duty is heavier than any mountain. I protect.</em>An exhalation, and thoughts of Gods and men vanished.<br/><br/>He stepped out from the alley.<br/><br/>Two men had been traveling the street just beyond, shadowed by the light of the streetlights behind them. Their black figures stood as if in mockery of a sunlit day, with the smooth stones glinting with the light. It wouldn't be long before the Twin rose up, but for now the larger Sister dominated the sky, blackened in the state of the New Moon. His sister, Isa, would be having visions about now. When the men saw Ashir, they stopped.<br/><br/>"Master Ashir, wh-what are you doing here?" One asked, shocked. The merchant, Arcil.<br/><br/>"Arcil, you planned to murder my sister."<br/><br/>"No! Who tells this lie?! I will end them for this slander! My lord, please, this is all a misunderstanding!"<br/><br/>"You damned yourself when you first made your plans. My sister had her Sight some time ago. Her visions were unclear to all who would refuse to look at the clues. A man of wealth, stained with her blood. Coins falling around a dagger, with the seal of a Nine-legged octopus crushing a ship. You are the only man with a seal having that many legs, though other merchants share the octopus and the ship; possibly a hundred other merchants have similar seals but... Only one with nine legs."<br/><br/>Arcil could be seen more plainly now. He was a thin, pale man. He drew out his sword with a frightened yelp. Next to him, his companion and possibly the assassin who was being paid to murder Isa did the same.<br/><br/><em>I am the eye, telling the Mind of danger. I am the skin, numbed to all pain.</em>With hardly an effort, Ashir drew out his sword and diverted an overhead strike from Arcil. His sword was longer, thinner, but its well-made steel made it hard enough to meet, and even shatter other swords. It was a sword worn by soldier-generals of old, when war was more common. They needed a weapon superior to that of even their best officers: a weapon that would suit its need, and never break or bend in a fight. It was not nearly so effective as to never break or bend, but even two hundred years later the design was ranked among the best. Modern day nobility and officers played with similar blades, but Ashir's remained the most faithful: an unadorned straight blade the pulled back closer to the tip. The blade on the side with the curve became flat and wedged out at the beginning of the curve, making slashes and stabs at the tip of the sword all the more deadly: wounds became larger. Blood flowed more freely.<br/><br/>Ashir rammed his blade through the possible assassin's throat as he came with a yell. Ashir stepped around a lunge, and swung it in to just before the man's throat, grabbed an extended wrist and<em>pulled</em>him into it. For an instant, the man squealed; the blade entered, and the squeal became a gurgle. Blood splattered onto Ashir's hand and arm holding the wrist.<em>I am the blade that spills the blood.</em><br/><br/>He let go of the wrist, and shoved with his now-free hand. The man came off the blade, still struggling for breath. Before he hit the ground, Arcil's next attack had been parried by Ashir. When Arcil stumbled back, the man was dead. Ashir went for Arcil now, really and truly. He swiped at the man's knees, was blocked. Arcil snarled. Ashir feinted an overhand slash, and just as Arcil moved to parry again, he flicked his wrist and drove the sword through the merchant's heart.<br/><br/>Arcil grunted in surprise. A moment later, he died.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Ashir stumbled into his apartment, alone. Blood covered his left hand and forearm. He took several steps in the dark, and then lit a candle with a silent wave of his hand. Some magic he retained.<br/><br/>He leaned up against a dresser, staring into a small mirror. Ashir searched his face, looking for something, and then smiled. "Good." He grunted. Then, he caught a glimpse of something as he turned away from the dresser, and did a double-take. When he held his hand there in front of the mirror, he became frozen. Then, slowly, he lowered his hand to see the blood on his sleeve and arm.<br/><br/>With a yell, he grabbed his sleeve and tore it off. He grabbed the nearby washbowl, and the cloth resting on its edge. He then scrubbed desperately at the blood, getting it off into the washbowl. Blood. Red. He hated it. Feared it. It was his best-kept secret. He hadn't even told Isa, though she might know despite never being told. When he was focused, it didn't bother him. Nothing bothered him when he was focused. Out of it, he became helpless when presented with blood.<br/><br/>After several minutes of scrubbing, he grabbed the bowl and threw its contents out over the balcony, and then down into the sea. The Guild had given the twins some of the best apartments. Isa was just next door, but her balcony was about a hundred yards away, and too far to hear him retch over the side.<br/><br/>Then, feeling better, Ashir went to sleep.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>A soft knock came at Isa's door.