The sun was setting and it’s almost red light spread across the desert sand, making it look like a blood field.
It was quiet as usual, only the wind could be heard, whispering unknown words to the endless desert.
Not so far away stood a lonely tree, casting it’s shadow to the hot sand.
A rock could be seen couple a meters away from the tree, like it stood there from the beginning of the world.
In the distance the sand and the sky merged together in one whole.
This surreal view was indeed a beautiful one, but it brought feeling of sadness to the tiny, dressed in black, hooded figure.
She came here often by herself. Training here made her to do her best, push herself to the limit and beyond, until she was no longer able to stand or breath.
“You plan to come here forever?” – the demon inside her spoke - “You won’t find him here.”
The girl squat on the ground, put there a little wooden box and touched the sand.
- I know. But this place reminds me why I have to get strong.
Most of the time she talked to the demon in her mind. But here she was sure no one could hear her, so she spoke as if he was standing beside her.
This time she wasn’t here for a training, but for her “ritual”. Once in a while she had to do this.
The girl opened the wooden box and took out some special cloths, oils and uchiko ball. She saturated one of the cloths with choji oil and carefully removed her tanto from the saya. This was the only time when she was by herself smiling, but this “ritual” of maintaining her weapon was a serious one, so she took her serious face.
- “The saya should be held in the left hand and the sword should be drawn out with the right hand. The left hand should remain motionless with the right hand doing the effort. The sword is held edge up and the blade should slide on the mune. The kissaki of the tanto should be always be kept pointing slightly upwards. This is a good habit since the weapon may not always have a mekugi to keep the tsuka on.”
The girl recite a thing from a book she read long ago.
“You’re weird.” – said the demon.
- You might not eat or drink, nor sleep or rest, you might live happily ever after or die tomorrow, but still you have to take a good care of your weapon, to show respect. I know what you’d say, but even if this weapon was given to me by the people who try to kill me, it’s my weapon now. It made me a fighter, and a fighter should always make sure his weapon is good and properly cleaned.
She gently tapped any debris from the saya and then wiped choji oil from the blade with a clean piece of nuguigami. The girl held the tsuka in her left hand with the ha pointed away from herself. She laid the nuguigami on the top of the blade at the habaki then wiped only in one direction from the tsuba to the kissaki. Using her thumb she ran along the mune, to keep her fingers away from the ha. She wiped it twice and made sure that the oil has been removed, then laid the wiping cloth on her hand and repeat the process on the bottom of the blade. After this she used the uchiko ball on the blade, tapping every few inches along the shinogi and wiped the uchico off the blade with a fresh piece of nuguigami, just like before.
Just one more thing and she’d be ready…
She oiled the blade using the oiling cloth and put the tanto gently back in it’s saya.
After that she let a long sigh, looking at the distance. Every time she enjoyed this ritual. She felt purified. A lot happened lately - the loss of her adoptive father, receiving demon in herself, the meeting with Junan and her encounter with a beautiful, but deadly lady, called Fang, that was after the only thing she had - her brother. But right now the weight on her shoulders was left aside, replaced by the cleansing effect of the ritual...
To Amaya's surprise, from amidst the nowhere, Izura appeared in a rather mysterious fashion and uninjured like she had last saw him. She new that by openly searching for him, that word would get around and force him out into the opening but this she had not predicted nor did she connect that Ayame and Izura were acquainted let alone siblings. 
