The bathroom was barely larger than a closet.
A cracked mirror and a sink with rust stains around the drain.
He stood at the sink, his hands braced against the cold porcelain, his reflection staring back at him from the cracked mirror.
The face in the glass was pale. Hollow-cheeked. The scar on his cheek was a thin white line that seemed to glow in the harsh light.
His violet eyes were ringed with shadows so dark they looked like bruises.
He'd been standing there for ten minutes.
Time had become slippery.
{I am a government agent. Before I am your mother. I am a tool of the state. That is my purpose. That is my function. That is what I am.}
The door creaked open behind him.
He didn't turn. He could see her reflection in the cracked mirror, a small figure in a white shift, her hair the color of fresh snow with a hint of green, her gray eyes glowing with that faint, ancient light. She moved like water, silent and fluid, her bare feet making no sound on the worn linoleum floor.
"Vert," he said. His voice was flat. Empty. "What do you want from me?"
She didn't answer immediately.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the bathroom suddenly felt much smaller than it had a moment ago. The fluorescent light flickered, dimmed, steadied. The hum deepened, almost becoming almost a growl.
"I have a question regarding you," she said finally. Her voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was something beneath it now. Something that hadn't been there before. "About the sword, not the one in your hands, not the tool but the one inside your chest."
Hoshimi's hand drifted to his chest.
[What? What does my reincarnation have to do with anything? Was King Arthur even involved with the Primordials?]
Beneath the fabric of his shirt, beneath the skin and muscle and bone, something pulsed.
"What about it?"
Vert moved closer. Her reflection in the mirror grew larger, filling the glass beside his own.
Her gray eyes met his violet ones in the silver surface, and he felt something shift in the air between them.
A pressure.
"That sword," she said. "I can feel its energy. Its essence. It's familiar to me." She paused. "It belongs to my sister."
Hoshimi turned to face her. The movement was slow, deliberate. His back pressed against the cold porcelain of the sink. His hands gripped the edge, knuckles white. "Your sister? One of the other primordials?"
"Bleu." Vert's voice was quiet, but the name seemed to echo in the small space, reverberating off the cracked mirror and the rust-stained sink and the flickering fluorescent light. "Belphegor is the one who gave that sword to a mortal king, a very, very long time ago."
Hoshimi's jaw tightened. "King Arthur."
[Then the Lady of the Lake must've been Bleu]
"Was that what his name was?" Vert's gray eyes studied his face with an intensity that made his skin prickle. "The sword was forged from a fragment of Bel's own essence. It was meant to be a gift. A tool meant to replace the King's old sword. A symbol of the covenant between the Primordials and the mortal realm."
"And now it's inside me."
"Yes." Vert stepped closer. Her bare feet were silent on the worn linoleum, but Hoshimi could feel her presence pressing against him like a physical weight. "It chose you. Or perhaps you chose it. The distinction is... perhaps blurry."
She reached out. Her fingers, pale and slender, pressed against his chest, directly over his sternum, directly over the place where the sword's presence pulsed with its steady, ancient rhythm.
Her touch was cold. Colder than ice. Colder than death. But it didn't hurt. It felt like falling asleep. Like the moment before unconsciousness, when the world goes soft and distant and nothing matters anymore.
"I can feel it," she murmured. "The sword's essence. Bleu's essence. It's... hungry. Waiting. It has been waiting for a very long time."
"Waiting for what?"
Vert's gray eyes met his. "For some human like you."
She moved.
It was not fast, not violent, but suddenly, Hoshimi's back was against the cold tile wall, and Vert's hand was pressing against his chest, pinning him in place.
She was smaller than him, shorter, slighter, but the strength in her grip was absolute, unbreakable, the strength of something that had existed for millennia and would exist for millennia more.
"You are not the first to carry that sword," she said quietly. "Nor will you be the last. But you are the first in a very long time to carry it willingly. To speak with it. To form a bond."
Her head tilted, that bird-like movement that made her seem less human, more something else. "That guy was the last. Before him, there were others. Warriors. Kings. Heroes and villains and everything in between. But the sword has never manifested as strongly as it has in you."
Hoshimi's breath was shallow. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you are eccentric to say the best." Vert's gray eyes were very close now. "Your body is unnaturally adapting to Bel, I can see something."
"And what do you see?"
Vert was silent for a long moment. The fluorescent light flickered, dimmed, steadied. Her hand was still pressed against his chest, still cold, still unyielding. When she spoke, her voice was softer than before. Almost gentle.
"A king, in some remote cave, surrounded by stones and pebbles, sleeping." Her gray eyes met his. "I see an empty throne, a queen living in solitude and a bloodied human child running."
"That's the same thing I saw as well."
"Did you speak to the sword?" Vert's hand withdrew from his chest. The absence of her touch was almost painful, a sudden, sharp cold that made him gasp.
"I did."
"The sword had manifested a soul of its own, how peculiar."
She stared into his soul.
"The sword of promised victory. Excalibur. It was made to replace the King's sword, but it's secondary purpose was to take out Rouge."
The words hung in the air between them. Hoshimi stared at her. His chest was still cold where her hand had been. "Rouge, the goddess of Wrath. The red horseman. The sword inside me. Is it really a weapon that could kill a goddess?"
"Yes." Vert stepped back. Her bare feet made no sound on the worn linoleum. "And now you carry it inside you. You are bonded to it. It has chosen you as its wielder." She paused at the bathroom door, her hand resting on the handle. "Bleu does whatever she wants to sometimes, the question lies on what you're going to do with it now."
She left before he could answer.
The door clicked shut behind her. Hoshimi stood alone in the tiny bathroom, his back against the cold tile wall, his hand lightly pressed against his chest, against the place where the sword pulsed with its steady, ancient rhythm.
[Could it kill Sarah?]
His hand dropped from his chest. His reflection stared back at him from the cracked mirror, pale and hollow-eyed, the scar on his cheek a thin white line, his violet eyes ringed with shadows. He looked like a ghost.
[Of course it can, and I'll make sure of it. I'll make sure to kill Sarah]
A monster wearing a human face.
He pushed himself off the wall. His legs were steady. His hands were steady.
He opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the hotel room. Neila was still in her chair by the window, her revolver in her lap.
Kira was still curled on the bed, her breathing slow and even. Vert was back in her corner, her gray eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance, her expression unreadable.
Hoshimi crossed to his bed and sat down. His hands rested on his knees. His back was straight. His eyes were clear.
"Hoshimi?" Neila's voice was sharp. "What took you so long?"
"I was in the toilet," he said quietly.
"Uh huh. Ten minutes seem like quite a long time to go take a shit."
"I was playing games on my phone."