Myth was certain she had never been more sore. And the day had hardly even begun.

"You want a break?"

Myth hunched over, resting her hands on her knees. "Yes."

Suddenly, her legs weren't beneath her. She landed so hard on her back that her breath was blown form her, and soon she was staring up at Truth's lavender eyes.

"Well you won't get one out there." Truth extended Myth a hand. "Come on. I'll let you have an actual rest."

Myth ignored the hand and opted to lay on her back, the concrete roof still cold from the night. "Thanks. I may just not move for a few days."

The sound of a can cracking open drew her attention. Truth slurped the juice from a can of peaches, then reached out, offering the can. "You could do that, but then you'd miss out on these."

She regarded the can for a moment, before slowly pushing herself up. The inside of the can glistened, bright yellow slices gleaming at her, daring her. Yet she hesitated. "What's the catch?"

"Hm, I'd say indentured servitude and your firstborn, but I think I'd need a contract for that. And I'm not big with the legal. So this will just have to be free."

Myth snatched the can. Yet the moment she took it, her stomach churned. The juice looked too sweet. The peaches too perfect.

I wonder what Soren is eating right now.

If they even feed him.

Truth nodded towards the can. "Go on. Eat."

Myth wanted to form words. Answer. Yet her lungs became heavy. Speaking seemed exhausting.

"You need proof that you deserve them? Fine. I'll prove it to you."

Myth registered the blade swinging towards her with only a fraction of a second to react.

She dropped the can and dodged the blow, the movement a matter of instinct and Truth's morning teachings. No sooner had she escaped, Truth moved again. She caught a glimpse of the raised knife glinting in late-dawn light, and sprung to the side before the razor point could become impaled in her thigh.

"Hey! Stop, I get it!" Myth shouted. "Psychopath!"

Truth raised a brow and cocked her weapon. "Really? I don't think you do."

Hardly a heartbeat passed before Truth charged again.

It became a dance. A dance that made her heart pound in her throat, her lungs struggle to keep up with her breath. Truth swung and struck out, and Myth evaded with milliseconds to spare. Myth's movements became sloppier by the minute.

She's wearing me down. I can't keep dodging unless I jumped right off this roof.

I wonder how far down the ground is.

She caught another glimpse of Truth's eyes before she swung. It brought her back to the previous night, pinned against the wall.

It's about time you learn to do something about it.

So she did.

Just as Truth stepped to stab the knife into Myth's shoulder, she grabbed a pipe and rammed it into the back of Truth's knee. The pale girl staggered, just enough time for Myth to ram Truth's elbow and throw the knife from her grip.

Myth picked up the knife, panting. She studied the gleam of the blade as Truth nursed her sore leg.

She tilted her head, flexing the blade with smooth moments of her wrist. She looked curiously down at Truth. "So, why exactly would you need my firstborn?"

~~~~~

"Alright Myth, now this may be one of the most important things I ever teach you: humans are squishy."

At this point, Myth was unsurprised by the odd array of words that could come from Truth's mouth. "What exactly am I supposed to be learning from that?"

When dusk had fallen, the two of them had retreated back inside the refuge of Truth's apartment. Myth was happy to sprawl across one of the partially-decayed couches while Truth tested the strength of the other couch's arm with her weight.

"Techniques and bladework are great. But when all else fails, go for the squishy. Eyes and the like. Vulnerable places," Truth explained.

Myth tried using her arms as pillows to get comfortable. Every muscle ached, and lying down had never felt better. "Soren taught me to go for the nose. You can kill someone by getting the nose from the right angle."

Truth cocked her head. "That works. So do my techniques." A curious expression crossed her face. "What else did Soren teach you?"

Myth lay there for a moment, staring off at a faded painting of chamomile flowers.

A chaotic mess of answers entered her mind. Yet all she said was, "He taught me how to survive."
Truth considered her. "Well then, guess I don't need to bother with that. I suppose my job then is to teach you how to live."

Myth hid her face in her arms. "All I want is for you to teach me how to fight well, alright? Can I sleep now?"

Judging by the sound of a muffled plop, Truth had dropped down onto the couch cushions. She was quiet for a moment. Then her voice came again. "What do you see when you close your eyes, Myth?"

At the moment, all she saw was darkness. Yet she knew that the moment Truth's ramblings ended, her mind would be clouded again. Invaded by sickly shadows, the hum of the insects, and countless sights of dark fluids dripping down walls. She would see sneering grins and hopeless faces. Her stomach would turn cold, and she would force herself to see nothing.

Darkness was her savior. She would always prefer to see darkness than anything at all. In darkness she didn't have to see the pain anymore.

Yet that didn't keep her from hearing it, over and over again. The angry buzz of trapped insects. The mad laughter. The sobbing.

Too much noise. Too much noise. I'll go mad. There's too much--

"Still awake there, Myth?"

For once, Myth was happy to hear Truth's voice.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Myth grumbled, disguising her relief.

"You never answered my question."

Myth hadn't forgotten. "You already claim to know me. What's the point in asking?"

"Because whether or not you answer is a part of the question."

Alright, I was grateful for the interruption once. But now I really just want to sleep.

When Myth didn't respond, Truth continued. "I also had a hard time sleeping when I escaped. I still do."

Curiosity sparked in her, but she wasn't about to show it. "Well it's not like we can do anything about it, and I don't feel like talking."

Truth took the bait. "Aha, but you see, there is something. I don't know how well it will work for you, but it served wonders for me."

A rustling stirred Myth to open her eyes. Truth was carrying a small brown box over to the low table. Truth sat next to it and began fiddling with dials. "This is a far cry from the technology that existed here before the Strike, but it's the simplicity that allows it to still work. What fills me with hope is that there's someone out there, somewhere, in some part of the world, making it so that this still works."

A moment later, sound poured from the box.

It was a beautiful, soft sound, elegant and gentle.

"Music," Myth whispered.

Truth nodded. "I scavenged this old radio from the grunts a few years back. It's why I chose to live all the way up here. So I could use it and not be heard. It's been helping me sleep ever since."

Myth lay her head down again. This time, as she lay in the darkness, she let the notes seep into her mind. She thought only of the music. The jeers and buzzing became distant.

"Make it louder," Myth asked.

A rise in the volume told her that Truth had obliged.

With the music taking up her entire mind, there was no room for anything else. The beautiful sounds acted as a wall against the insects and cruel faces. She let the music take shape in her mind's eye, as waves of gentle colors. The couch melted away into a soft cloud, rocking like a small boat in a calm ocean.

She floated in her ocean, drifting off to sleep, for once not sinking into the dark abyss and the demons within.