Yuki had taken the siblings to her treehouse. She poured a potion into their mouths to help heal their wounds. "You'll be fine…" she whispered.
Her home was small and somewhat cramped. Power Balls of all sizes were scattered across tables, shelves, and even the floor, glowing faintly with an inner energy.
One entire wall was dominated by an impressive — and slightly intimidating — array of weapons. Guns of various calibers gleamed under the dim light, rifles rested against the shelves, and knives of every shape and size were meticulously arranged.
Swords, some simple and some elegantly curved like katanas, hung in precise lines, their edges catching the light just enough to hint at their deadly sharpness. Among them were strange, unfamiliar instruments of war whose purposes were not immediately clear.
Yuki sank slowly into the wooden chair, the worn seat creaking softly beneath her weight. She leaned forward slightly and her eyes were fixed intently on the siblings before her.
