The weeks passed by within a blur.
Training with Tukson became routine—every night at the forest's edge, refining techniques, testing aura control, learning to work in sync rather than simply fighting side by side. She'd gotten faster, more confident. Her violet aura had grown stronger, more responsive. And she'd stopped asking about the times my eyes would flash red during particularly intense moments.
I wasn't sure if that was trust or fear. Maybe both.
The days were spent at the bakery, the familiar rhythm of kneading dough and cutting bread providing a strange counterbalance to the nightly combat training. Mrs. Xiong watched us both with a mixture of pride and worry, the kind of expression I imagined all parents wore when their children chose dangerous paths.
And through it all, that presence—that other Chara—remained mercifully quiet. A weight in the back of my mind, a shadow at the edge of my consciousness, but not actively interfering. Just... waiting.
"Chara! Stop spacing out and pay attention!"
Tukson's voice snapped me back to the present. We were standing in Mr. Steele's forge again, six weeks almost to the day since our first visit. The air was thick with heat and anticipation.
"Sorry," I said, refocusing. "What did he say?"
"He said they're ready," Tukson repeated, her ears practically vibrating with barely contained excitement. "Our weapons are done."
Mr. Steele emerged from the back workshop carrying two cases—one long and sleek, the other shorter and wider. He set them carefully on the main workbench, his expression serious despite the pride evident in his posture.
"Six weeks of work," he announced. "Some of the most complex builds I've done in years. Before I show you, I want to make one thing absolutely clear." His gaze moved between us, stern and unyielding. "These are not toys. These are not status symbols. These are instruments designed to kill Grimm—and potentially, if you're not careful, people. You will treat them with respect, maintain them religiously, and never, ever use them carelessly. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," we said in unison.
"Good." He opened the longer case first, revealing my weapon.
The combat knife lay nestled in custom-fitted foam, and even at rest it was beautiful in a dangerous, precise way. The blade was a dark gray—high-carbon steel with a matte finish that wouldn't reflect light. The segmented design was barely visible when locked together, the seams so fine they looked like decorative etchings rather than functional separations.
The handle was wrapped in black leather with subtle crimson threading, and I could see the Dust chamber access points worked seamlessly into the design. The whole thing was maybe fourteen inches long in its compact form, perfectly balanced for a reverse or standard grip.
"Go on," Mr. Steele said. "Pick it up. Get a feel for it."
I reached out slowly, my fingers wrapping around the handle. The moment I touched it, I felt my aura respond—that crimson-and-shadow energy flowing into the weapon like it had been waiting for this connection. The knife felt like an extension of my arm, perfectly weighted, utterly natural.
I gave it an experimental spin, testing the grip transitions. Smooth. Effortless.
"Now the transformation," Mr. Steele instructed. "Trigger is in the pommel—press and twist clockwise."
I found the mechanism and activated it. The blade segments unlocked with a subtle click, extending smoothly along the high-tensile wire until the weapon had doubled in length. The shortsword configuration felt just as natural as the knife, the balance shifting but remaining perfectly centered.
"Beautiful," I breathed.
"And the ranged mode," Mr. Steele continued. "Twist counter-clockwise, then press the secondary trigger."
The segments separated completely, each one suspended along the wire at precise intervals. I could feel the Dust charges armed and ready, the weapon almost humming with potential energy.
"You can fire them individually or in sequence," the blacksmith explained. "The wire is rated for a hundred pounds of tension, and each segment can be ejected up to thirty feet before needing to retract. The Dust charges are interchangeable—I've included fire, ice, and lightning types to start with."
I retracted the blade, the segments snapping back into place with satisfying precision. The whole transformation cycle took maybe three seconds.
"It's perfect," I said quietly.
"It's unnamed," Mr. Steele corrected. "A weapon isn't finished until it has a name."
I stared at the blade, watching the way light played across the dark steel. A knife that could become a sword. Segments that separated and rejoined. Something that embodied both the precision of assassination and the versatility of protection.
The fragments of memory stirred—dust settling, choices made, the weight of determination. But also Mrs. Xiong's kindness, Tukson's trust, the possibility of being something more than just a weapon.
"Dust Devil." I said, testing the name aloud. It felt... almost right, but not quite complete. The words hung in the air, and I could feel that presence in the back of my mind stir slightly, neither approving nor disapproving.
Mr. Steele raised an eyebrow. "Dust Devil? As in the weather phenomenon?"
"As in what remains when everything settles," I said quietly, turning the blade over in my hands. "Dust is what's left behind. What can't be undone. But a devil..." I paused, feeling the weight of the name, "...is a choice.
Something that can be controlled or unleashed."
The blacksmith studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded slowly. "That's darker than most kids your age would choose. But if it means something to you, then it's the right name."
Tukson shifted beside me, her ears twitching. I could feel her gaze on me, probably wondering about the implications of naming a weapon after dust—something she'd heard me mention in fragments during my darker moments. But she said nothing, instead turning her attention to the second case as Mr. Steele opened it.
Her weapons were stunning in a completely different way. The dual tonfa gleamed with polished steel and deep violet accents that matched her aura. They were sleeker than traditional tonfa, more refined, with visible Dust chambers built seamlessly into the design. The grip sections were wrapped in black and white material—a subtle nod to her hair coloring.
Tukson reached for her weapons with trembling hands, and the moment her fingers wrapped around the grips, her violet aura flared to life, brighter than I'd ever seen it. The tonfa seemed to resonate with her energy, the Dust chambers glowing faintly in response.
"They're lighter than I expected," she said, giving them a few experimental spins. The weapons moved through the air with barely a whisper, her natural grace making the movements look effortless.
"That's the carbon-fiber composite housing," Mr. Steele explained. "Strong enough to block a Beowulf's claws, light enough not to slow you down. Now try the extension."
Tukson found the trigger mechanism, and the tonfa extended smoothly into short staves, nearly doubling their length. She shifted her stance automatically, adjusting to the new reach, and I could see the wheels turning in her head as she imagined the combat applications.
"And the propulsion system?" she asked eagerly.
"Selector switch near your thumb," Mr. Steele pointed. "Red for fire Dust, blue for ice, yellow for lightning, white for wind. The thrust ports are here—" he indicated points along the weapons, "—angled to enhance your movements without throwing off your balance. But be careful with the fire Dust. The recoil is significant."
Tukson collapsed the staves back to tonfa form, then activated the blade deployment. Four-inch bayonets slid out from the front ends with a sharp snick, transforming the defensive weapons into something far more lethal.
"Oh, these are perfect," she breathed, her amber eyes practically glowing with excitement. She looked at me, grinning. "Want to test them out? I bet I can finally land more than one hit on you now."
"Maybe not in my forge," Mr. Steele interjected dryly. "I'm rather fond of my workspace remaining intact. But you'll both need to name them first." He looked at Tukson expectantly.
Her excitement dimmed slightly, replaced by thoughtful concentration. She stared at her weapons, turning them over in her hands, testing their weight and balance. The violet glow of her aura pulsed gently around the tonfa, making them look almost alive.
"They're supposed to help me move faster," she said slowly. "To fight in three dimensions. To be like..." She paused, her bat ears flicking as she worked through the thought. "Like I'm dancing through the air, even when I'm grounded."
She was quiet for another moment, then her expression brightened. "Nightfall and Daybreak."
"Interesting choice," Mr. Steele said. "May I ask why?"
Tukson held up the weapons, one in each hand. "Because I'm nocturnal—I'm strongest at night. But Mom wants me to learn to function during the day too. These weapons are going to help me bridge that gap. One represents who I am naturally, the other represents who I'm learning to be." She smiled, slightly self-conscious. "Plus it sounds cool."
"It does sound cool," I agreed.
Mr. Steele nodded his approval. "Then it's settled. Dust Devil, Nightfall, and Daybreak." He pulled out a data pad and made some notes. "I'll have the names engraved on the weapons before final delivery. You'll also need maintenance kits—cleaning supplies, replacement Dust cartridges, spare parts for the mechanical systems. And—" he fixed us both with a stern look, "—instruction manuals. Read them. Thoroughly. I don't want either of you coming back here with broken weapons because you didn't understand the proper maintenance procedures."
"Yes, sir," we chorused again.
"Good. Now, testing period. You'll take these home, train with them, get accustomed to their weight and responses. Come back in two weeks and we'll make any necessary adjustments. After that, they're yours for good." He began packing the weapons back into their cases, handling them with the same care he'd probably give to his own children.
Mrs. Xiong, who had been watching quietly from the corner of the forge, stepped forward. "Thank you, Marcus. This means more than you know."
The blacksmith's expression softened slightly. "These kids have potential, Xiao. Real potential. Just... make sure they use these weapons to protect people, not to chase ghosts."
There was weight to those words, an unspoken reference to Tukson's father and the path that had led to his death. Mrs. Xiong's ears drooped slightly, but she nodded. "I will."
We left the forge carrying our weapons—or rather, our partners, as Mr. Steele had called them. The cases felt heavier than they should, weighted with responsibility and possibility in equal measure.
Tukson was practically vibrating with energy. "Can we test them tonight? Please? I know we're not supposed to go into the deep forest, but we could at least practice the forms, get used to the weight—"
"Yes," I said before she could spiral further into pleading. "We can test them tonight."
Her face lit up, and I felt something warm in my chest. Not the cold determination that lived in the shadows of my soul, but something gentler. Something that felt almost like happiness.
"You two are going to be insufferable now, aren't you?" Mrs. Xiong said, but she was smiling. "Armed teenagers with more confidence than sense."
"We have Aura now," Tukson pointed out. "And training. And actual weapons instead of sticks."
"Which is exactly what worries me," her mother replied. But her hand came to rest on Tukson's shoulder, and the gesture was filled with affection. "Just promise me you'll be careful. Both of you."
"We promise," I said.
That night, under the broken moon, we would test our weapons for the first time. Dust Devil, Nightfall, and Daybreak—instruments designed to kill Grimm, carried by two thirteen-year-olds who were still learning what it meant to be Huntsmen.
Or in my case, learning what it meant to be human.