2

And yet, despite his ability to, literally, predict her every move, this time, Hana wasn't sure she could fully stop herself from at least making the attempt--doing something to prove that the future wasn't quite fully decided without her input.

Hana watched Kaldor watching her as she reached down into the seam of her robes for her "last-ditch" dagger. It was a rusty old thing, given to her by her father before he'd left on another expedition to the Last Wilderness and never returned again.

Hana wished this made it something sentimental, but her dad hadn't been like that. He'd just dropped it into her hand, told her to "cut the dead wood from the most living tree out back," and walked out and left forever. It was a ridiculous way to say goodbye.

Still, before Hana ever could have realized that this mundane instruction was the last thing she'd ever hear form her father, she'd went out behind their utilitarian cedar home, and cut off some dry-looking branches from the "most living" looking trees she could find. The dagger wasn't good for cutting wood. Or chopping it. Or slicing. Or for doing much of anything useful around the house for that matter.

But it had always been extremely efficient in bringing down even the "toughest" warriors to their knees.

So, Hana thought, if she was going to have any chance at getting rid of the disgusting Hok, a quick thrust of the rust-covered blade into his stomach was seemingly the best option.

The Twin's rings were fully over the horizon now and the rest of her brothers and sisters in arms were fully stirring, ready to advance farther into the West to ostensibly protect the civilized masses of Erto from some scraggly Revivalists.

It's all really pointless isn't it? Hana thought. Including this ridiculous plan.

Including everything. And Every Thing...

It wasn't until Hana's momentum from her charge at Kaldor was unchangeable, fate having already grooved out a path ahead in time--that she realized her final thoughts weren't actually her thoughts at all.

When she was within inches of Kaldor, Hana abruptly stopped. She looked up at Kaldor, except the brutish lout wasn't standing in front of her anymore.

She stared up into a beautiful scarred face, sun-cracked but radiant, overly large brown eyes that hid a warmth only recently contained under the harsh crust of world-weariness.

She stared at herself.

And then she found that she realized everything.

Or perhaps the realization found everything within her.

Hana turned. The consciousness that was not quite her own but which still seemed to be more essentially Hana than anything else, guided her movements. She--it--didn't want to cause any pain to Hana's Other standing where Kaldor had been only moments before.

Hana slid her fingers up the dagger's rusty blade, before holding it, point first, at the very bottom of the back of her head. She smiled.

Cut the dead wood from the most living tree out back.

Her father had known all along.

Hana leaned back and watched her mythical hero carry the sun up the Twin's outermost ring. As she hit the ground, for just the briefest of moments, before the force of the fall pushed the rusty blade into the soft-tissue at the base of her skull, through the center of her brain, exploding out the front of her face, Hana felt the flashing pain of Existence lost collide with the splendor of wholly uniting with and into The Truth.

Hana's essence Became a mother.

"The Mother," she, or someone else, thought.

That moment was her most important.

As it was for Every One.