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Upon meeting Beruka, Oboro found her almost paradoxical. She was her confirmation of the prejudices she held against Nohr; she was trained to be a killing machine, merciless. Yet she lacked a key factor: Hate.
Her uncertainty about her and her exposure to Nohr’s vile nature from its core, added to her nightmares. The dark sky would hide everything but corpses, blood pooling at her feet. She’d look at the bodies of her parents, their faces becoming a blur gradually as the years went by, as the dream would repeat. She’d look up at a terrifying figure, their form uncertain before her dream came to a halt. The figure was ambiguous, taking many different forms as the battles went on. As of late, the figure took the form of Beruka.
She seemed unaffected by everything. Almost as if she didn’t feel. But Oboro knew she did, from the ever so subtle motions of her eyes, yet her thoughts were still so unclear. However, what she did notice was the lack of aggression in her eyes. They were much different from her own. She wondered what it was that drove her as no strong emotion guided her, a need for revenge, perhaps. Oboro could almost not believe it was possible.
Often Beruka would dodge attacks for her. Her attacks were graceful and calculated, her experience showing each time she swung her axe to strike the enemy. Maybe it was due to her devotion to her mistress. It seemed that as of late, she'd come to her assistance much more often. She wondered what changed. Considering Beruka's professional nature, it made no sense why she was looking out for her specifically. Nothing bound her to Oboro.
Oboro had been ordered to fight at the front lines. She took on her opponents, focusing on the battlefield first and foremost. The enemy swung its sword at her and she was able to dodge with her naginata right on time. She pulled her weapon to the side, leaving an opening in her opponent. She took the opportunity to stab at his stomach, making him crouch. Her eye caught the glint of an enemy archer advancing towards the front lines from the rear. How has he not been taken care of yet? Before she could question it further, she felt something pulling her ankles, successfully dropping her on her back, causing her to lose hold of her naginata. She looked up and saw the enemy charge at her with its sword, towering over her. Unable to defend herself, she shielded herself with her arms and shut her eyes, preparing for the attack. An attack that was never delivered, it seemed. Upon opening her eyes, she was met with the sight of a beheaded man, blood gushing out of his neck and on her. In shock, she instantly grabbed her weapon and sat up. She looked up to her side and saw Beruka, having dismounted her wyvern and holding out her blood-tainted axe. They made eye contact for just a moment before she hopped right back on her mount and flew away. It all happened so fast that she wasn’t even able to thank her properly. She jumped to her feet, adrenaline still coursing through her, helping her fight.
It wasn’t long before her attention was diverted once again, but this time by the sight of a falling wyvern. Without thinking, she immediately rushed to its direction, a horrible sense of dread engulfing her. Her fears were confirmed when she saw a fallen Beruka, and in the distance the archer that had caught her attention earlier. She barely dodged an arrow trying to reach her fallen ally, once again being put on the defensive. She dashed towards the archer, thinking it wiser to take care of him first as he was a great obstacle in assisting Beruka. She tried stabbing him, but he dodged with his bow, her naginata ending up stuck on the wood. He kicked her stomach, drawing a gasp out of her as the pain rolled in. She fell to the ground, Naginata still in her grasp. The archer dropped the bow-naginata contraction and pulled out a dagger to face Oboro in close proximity. Just before he was able to hit her, she rolled to the side, grabbing her naginata and hitting him on the back with its end where the bow was attached, making him fall. She stood up swiftly, stepped on the bow and pulled on her weapon, separating the two. Finally, she dealt the final blow on his back, killing him successfully.
She turned back to get to Beruka, startled by the sight before her. Beruka was crouching, an arrow pierced through her thigh. She grasped her axe, trying to defend herself from an enemy swordfighter. Oboro picked up the pace, rushing to her aid, not before Beruka was struck, falling to the ground. The swordfighter kicked head down to the ground, readying their sword for another attack. So focused were they on their target that they didn’t notice Oboro behind them until it was too late. She pierced her naginata through their back, dropping down when she pulled it back. Seeing that there were no enemy soldiers around them, she knelt down beside Beruka. She raised her head, and saw that she was unconscious. She was still breathing, thankfully. Her attention fell on the arrow on her thigh. It was barely stopping her bleeding, and she knew it was best to take care of it fast before the wound got infected. She ripped a piece of her cape– It’s ripped anyway, I’ll make her a new one, she thought. She carefully pulled the arrow from her flesh, pouring some vulnerary on the wound before wrapping it with the cloth she tore. She hid Beruka under the wing of her– injured yet alive– wyvern and got back into the fight, not straying far to keep an eye on her ally.
The battle was over, everyone made it out alive, yet not completely unscathed. She took Beruka to her own tent to watch over her as she wanted to ask her a few things once she recovered. She placed her on her futon and removed her armour to check her injuries. In the process she found a dagger snuck under her wristplate, carefully positioned. For emergency situations, she thought. She was curious about it. Well, she would absolutely not need it for now, so she confiscated it and hid it under her belt. Fortunately, she didn’t have any major injuries. Other than the cut to her thigh she had a shallow scar on her collarbone and a few bruises on her chest and head. She applied ointment to her wounds and left her to rest. In the meantime, she tended to Lord Takumi’s problems. Perhaps later she’d start on making a new cape for Beruka, she thought…
xXx
Beruka woke up with a horrible headache. She opened her eyes to an unknown tent and she was stripped to her underclothes. Alarm bells rang in her head. She reached for her dagger but it was nowhere to be found. Where was she? The idea of being left defenseless in the unknown horrified her. She tried to get up, but an excruciating pain in her leg forced her back down. Through her panic, she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She took in her surroundings. It was dark. She was in someone’s tent. It was tidy. In the distance lay a person, resting her head on something like a small desk. Oboro? So this was Oboro’s tent. Her nerves calmed a little. Was she the one who brought her here? Strange, she thought. Oboro didn’t like her, why would she trust her enough to have her in her tent?
She carefully dragged herself off the futon and to Oboro’s side of the tent, trying not to irritate her wound. Her tent was not very big, but it was larger than her own. She looked at the object Oboro leaned on. It was a small desk with a dark fabric spread on it and some sewing material. Why would she be working on something like this now? She didn’t understand.
xXx
Morning came, the sun crept in the tent through its small openings. Oboro stirred awake. She must have been very tired last night to have fallen asleep while working, she thought. She looked to her side and saw a pair of eyes gazing at her. That really shook her awake.
“Beruka!”
“I didn’t mean to startle you. Weren’t you the one who brought me here?” She was sitting and with one leg crossed, holding a piece of fabric.
“Uh, yes. But why are you sitting there? You’re supposed to be resting, your wounds haven’t healed yet.”
“I woke up early and thought I’d take care of my armour.” Oboro had left Beruka’s armour in her tent. It seems like she had been cleaning it during the night. “I’m missing a dagger.”
Shit, the dagger. Oboro thought. She wasn’t ready to hand it to her yet. “Weird, maybe you dropped it somewhere?”
“I couldn’t have. I had it positioned precisely. Did you take it?”
“What need do I have with your dagger? It’s not like we’re lacking weapons right now.”
Beruka fell silent, her gaze piercing through Oboro, as if doubting her answer. “Is Lady Camilla safe?”
She almost let out a sigh of relief at the change of subject. “Yeah, she even came to check on you.” A very awkward moment for her, as Princess Camilla tended to be rather overbearing. She was lucky she didn’t accidentally pull her notorious scowl while she was visiting. “Maybe you should focus on making a fast recovery, you wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”
A pause again.
“Why did you bring me here? You could’ve left me at my own tent.”
She could have, but…
“I wanted to ask you something. And to thank you, I guess.”
Her eyes peered up. “Thank me? For what?”
“You’ve been looking out for me on the battlefield recently, more than necessary. Why? It’s not like you.”
“Didn’t you say we should fight together as long as we’re allies?” So that was it? Nothing more? She almost wished there was more to it. “And despite hating me, you still showed me mercy.”
“Huh? This again? People don’t exactly go around killing others just because they don’t like them. Besides, I don’t really hate you.”
“...Perhaps Hoshido is a lot different than I thought.”
Another wave of silence surged in at that. Oboro was never fond of Nohr, but when talking to someone who grew up in the worst part of it, a different feeling roused in her. She remembered that she was talking to Beruka, an assassin raised in the slums. Her entire job was to take lives based on her clients’ hatred. So maybe to her, hate did in fact lead to murder. Is that really the mentality that Nohrians grew up with? That human lives were this trifling? Coming from someone who almost threw her life away to appease Oboro’s anger, perhaps it was.
“Let me help you back on the futon. I want to check your injuries.” Oboro finally spoke up.
“I can do so myself. Don’t.” She grew defensive, seemingly aversive to being touched.
“It’s going to take a lot longer for you to heal if you accidentally open your wound! Let me help you already.”
Despite Beruka’s protests, Oboro picked her up and gently placed her down on the futon. At that Beruka quieted, losing the will to argue. Oboro motioned her to hold out her leg, which she did slowly and cautiously. She untied the cloth around her wound and opened her mouth to speak up, but she shut it and continued her work. She applied ointment on the cut once more, producing a wince out of Beruka. She used regular bandages this time to tie around her leg which she did slowly and carefully, her gaze alternating between the wound and Beruka’s face, like she was paying attention to the changes in her expression.
“...For someone who speaks so sharply, you’re… very gentle… with me.”
“Hm? It’s just the bare minimum. You’re an ally after all.”
“Heh. Perhaps it is.”
“Besides, I don’t really have a reason to be upset with you. None of what happened to me was your fault. There, it should be better now.” She stood up, heading towards the tent's entrance. “I need to go tend to Lord Takumi.”
“Oboro. One more thing.”
“Hm?
“Is my wyvern alright?”
“Her wing got hurt, but that's all there is to it.” Beruka nodded in understanding.
xXx
Until late afternoon, Oboro focused on her duties. She returned to her tent once to deliver lunch to Beruka. In the meantime, she could not stop thinking about the dagger. She would take it out and examine it. It was small, sheathed. She had never seen anything like it in Hoshido. She traced her fingers on it– it was a simple thing, really– and then she unsheathed it. It was carefully sharpened, to the point where it seemed like it could cut through the faintest touch. It must have been important to Beruka, otherwise why was it one of the first things she asked her for? How did she get her hands on it? Or, who gave it to her? What if it was her mentor who gave it to her? Just how many lives could this blade have taken?
“He said the mark that day was too easy. He didn't enjoy it, because he felt more like a highwayman than an assassin.”
Her heart sank, shuddering at the thought. Could it possibly have…? The blade of an assassin. She didn't know whether she wanted to throw it in the fire, banish it, or to keep it with her. She’d hold on to it for now. It was not hers after all.
The second time Oboro returned to her tent was to deliver dinner to Beruka in the late afternoon, where she would stay for. While Beruka was having dinner, she decided to continue working on the cape. She would have finished it by then if she hadn’t fallen asleep mid-work last night. She was almost done with it. It was not long before Beruka spoke up, seemingly having finished her dinner.
“What are you doing?”
“I am making a garment, what else?”
“Why?” Her response came quickly.
“Why?” She questioned back. “Because I want to, and I like doing it. It soothes my mind.”
“I still don’t see the point. Shouldn’t you be focusing on something that could help us in the upcoming battles?”
“Taking a moment to relax does help. But I guess you wouldn’t understand. Do you do anything other than train, fight and serve your mistress?”
“No, and not doing those right now infuriates me.”
“If you actually saw this as the break it’s supposed to be, you’d be feeling its effects by now.”
Beruka fell silent after that. Was she actually considering her advice? She had thought her to be more stubborn. Soon after, Oboro was done with the cape. She raised it up, appreciating her work. It was a dark shade of purple, similar to Beruka’s old cape but it had embroidered patterns of flowers–specifically, lilies of the valley– on it along with a ribbon that went along the edges. She had never worked on a nohrian-style garment before, and she never thought she would have, so she was proud of her handiwork. She stood up and headed towards Beruka, who was eyeing her warily, unsure of her intentions.
“Sit up properly, I want to see something.” She ordered. Beruka looked at her for a moment before complying, seemingly skeptical. Oboro wrapped the cape around her shoulders, tying it at the front the way Beruka usually styled it. Then she handed her a hand mirror. “What do you think?”
Beruka was silent for a moment, tracing her hand over the cape while studying herself wearing it in the mirror. Finally, all she managed was a “...Why?”
“Hm? I ripped part of your cape during the fight, so I thought I’d make it up to you. It was already ripped all over anyway, it’s high time you got a new one.”
“...I still don’t get it. It served its purpose just fine. There was no need for a new one, you just wasted your time.”
“Must you always be this annoying? I made it because I wanted to. Do you really have no sense of aesthetics?”
“A sense of aesthetic is frivolous, a distraction. Besides, the cape doesn’t suit me.”
“And why is that?”
“It’s too beautiful. I don’t deserve it.”
She paused for a moment, thinking through her reply. Right. A person who would throw her life away just to relieve the anger of someone she barely knew wouldn’t think of herself as beautiful. She didn’t know whether to feel sad or angry about how low that girl’s self respect was. Finally, she spoke up.
“I am a tailor, I make clothes that specifically match the beauty of my clients, therefore I have a keen eye for it. Or do you doubt my abilities? Considering I have been commissioned by the royal family for my work, I’d say I’m quite good.”
Beruka let out a small and quiet “uh” while glancing away, a tinge of colour painting her cheeks. “I-If you say so...”
Oboro grinned proudly in response, placing her hands on her hips. She had never seen Beruka act this way before. She was flustered, greatly contrasting her practically emotionless demeanor. She was almost cute when she blushed like this. It confirmed Oboro’s creative decisions, the cape was perfect for her. “And don’t you dare try and leave it behind! You’ll be taking it with you, I will accept no less.” Beruka nodded quickly– enthusiastically? Nervously perhaps? Oboro saw the transaction as a great success.
xXx
They hadn’t exchanged words until it was time for Oboro to go to bed, something she couldn’t exactly do with another girl sleeping on her futon. Beruka argued that she could take the floor, but Oboro insisted she stay on the futon. Sleeping on the same futon was out of the question, as Beruka’s wounds would be at risk of re-opening. Plus, she didn’t like being touched. In the end, Oboro borrowed Beruka’s mattress from her tent and brought it to her own, placing it next to her futon due to the limited space. Through all this struggle however, the question of why Beruka was still staying in her tent never even crossed her mind. And perhaps it was a good thing that Beruka hadn’t asked her, because she wouldn’t have an answer.
xXx
The same scene unfolded again. She was stepping in a pool of blood, the bodies of a man and a woman at her feet, their faces unclear. She looked in front of her, a figure whose appearance kept shifting– from a man to something that resembled Beruka. Yet what remained unchanged in this image was the weapon the figure was holding. A dagger. Beruka’s dagger. Her heart rate picked up, her breathing was fast, shallow. Her legs felt weak, but she remained frozen in place. She couldn’t move. That’s when the figure started saying her name. “Oboro. Oboro. Are you listening?”
It ran to her direction, grabbing her by her shoulders and shaking her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, the terrifying figure now the only thing in her vision. It kept repeating her name. “Oboro. Oboro.”
“Oboro, wake up.”
She gasped, finally opening her eyes. She looked up, only to see Beruka over her, holding her by the shoulders. The girl of her nightmares. She let out a scream, before sitting up, still trying to steady her breath.
“Sorry for scaring you. You were having a nightmare, I was trying to wake you up.”
Oboro’s breath slowed and she swallowed. “It’s fine. Thanks.” She held her head in her hand.
There was a moment of silence before Beruka broke it.
“A lot of kids in the slums had nightmares, but I usually didn’t. So I’m used to seeing others have them.” Another pause. “Lady Camilla often gets them too, she usually calls me or Selena to make her feel better… She likes it when I do this, though I don’t really get it–”
She awkwardly reached out to Oboro, wrapping her arm around her waist stiffly. Oboro flinched, never expecting her to do anything of the sort.
“What are you…?”
“Should I stop?”
“No it’s just– I wasn’t expecting this from you.”
“I also find it strange. Should I stay like this…?”
“I think it would be better if–”
She adjusted her position, turning over to face Beruka and wrapping an arm around her. Beruka’s eyes widened slightly as she stiffened, but she slowly got used to it. They didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the night, only slightly re-adjusting to get more comfortable. It seemed like Beruka was still not completely used to it, but she didn’t protest. Oboro ended up falling asleep, Beruka following suit.
The next morning, Oboro woke up first. Turns out Beruka had scooted closer to her in her sleep, her head below Oboro's chin. Who would've thought. She had to detangle herself from her. Soon enough, Princess Camilla visited her tent, asking that Beruka be brought to her tent, having missed her dear retainer. Oboro could do nothing else but comply, though part of her wanted to protest. She didn’t understand why.
As the days went by, Oboro could not stop thinking about the dagger. She inspected it frequently, tons of scenarios crossing her mind. About how many lives it could have taken. Of who created it. Of the hands that could have passed it down. Of whose lives it could have taken. If Beruka cared for it as much as she thought, could it have belonged to someone important to her? What if it was just Princess Camilla who gave it to her? All these thoughts were making her head hurt and they distracted her from her duties, so she thought it wise to return it to its owner and perhaps ask for an answer.
She found Beruka training at the makeshift training grounds in the camp. It wasn’t unlike her, Beruka would not let a moment slip by where she wasn’t being productive. And her recovery was break enough, even though her cut probably hadn’t fully healed. Upon noticing Oboro she paused her training, balancing her axe on the ground and turning to her direction. She wasn’t wearing her cape.
“Is there something you want?”
Oboro stood silent, unmoving for a second. She reached into her belt and pulled out the dagger, pointing it in her direction, sheathed. Beruka took it in her hands.
“So you had it after all. Unsurprising.”
“Care to have a chat?”
“If it’s something unimportant, then spare it.”
“It’s important to me.” Her voice was a bit shaky. The words came out on their own, not thinking them through.
“...Then I suppose I’ll hear you out.”
She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “This dagger, what does it mean to you?”
“A silly question. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Really? I doubt that. Why was it the first thing you asked for when I took you in?”
“...I was frightened. I woke up in someone else’s tent, defenseless.”
“But I’m an ally. You had no reason to be wary of me.”
“Trust is not gained easily. Especially if you’re raised by the slums of Nohr. Many believed to be allies could easily stab you in the back if you were not careful enough.”
“...Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”
“They’re not bad memories– they’re just memories. Is that all you wanted? I don’t have enough time to waste.”
“Wait! One more thing. May I ask where you got the dagger from?”
“Hm… I don’t remember. I must have found it on the body of one of the people I was hired to kill. We were short on resources, so I took all I could get.”
“And do you– do you remember who it was?”
“No. Does it matter?”
“Well– you may think it silly, but I’m just wondering, could it have belonged to your mentor?”
“...If you think the blade had something to do with your parents’ death, it didn’t. It’s just an old dagger. Was this what was bothering you?”
“...Perhaps. I suppose I should be taking my leave then. Not wanting to waste any of your precious time.” She turned back to leave.
“Oboro.”
She shifted her attention back to her.
“...Sometimes I think… that when it’s you I’m talking to, my time isn’t really wasted.”
xXx
It wasn’t long before they headed to the battlefield again. Each battle got more challenging, resulting in more allies injured. Thankfully, no one ended up dead, but the army’s morale took a hit, the reality of war’s nature settling deeper into everyone’s spirit. Oboro did get injured, though it was nothing major, just a cut on her upper arm from an enemy archer. She thought it best for at least the following night to stay in her tent and let herself recover. She sat down and started making yet another garment. That same night, she received a visitor. Beruka.
She arrived as if in a hurry. Once she entered the tent, the first thing she did was remove her wristplate armour where she would conceal her dagger. She left the two pieces at the tent’s entrance. She had put on the cape Oboro had given her, even though she was not wearing it on the battlefield.
“I heard you were hurt.”
“It’s only a scar, it should heal quickly.”
Beruka fell silent, standing in the middle of the tent. Oboro smirked. “Thank you for worrying about me.”
“...Yeah, I suppose… that’s why I came.”
“Oh? You don’t know why you’re visiting?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
The room fell silent again, but this time it was not an awkward silence. Beruka took some slow steps in Oboro’s direction, sitting next to her and watching her work quietly. Was this another Nohrian-style garment? Beruka couldn’t tell, it was still in its early stages. As time went on, she leant her head on Oboro’s shoulder, her gaze remaining on her working hands. Oboro didn’t mind, enjoying the comfortable silence. Neither of them saw this as a waste of time.