Fafnir was alone in Gram's inner world when the silence began to bother her again.
That place had always been the same to her. A space too vast to be called merely the inside of a sword, yet too enclosed to be called a world. There were mountains of gold scattered like artificial hills, shallow rivers of ancient coins accumulated over eons, and piles of treasure that filled almost the entire visible horizon. Gems, crowns, artifacts, grimoires, jewelry, weapons, and things whose value couldn't even be measured by ordinary wealth rested there, untouched by the passage of time.
"If my body is real, are these treasures real too?" she murmured, standing atop a hill of coins, arms crossed as she gazed at her surroundings with a confusion she still couldn't hide—even from herself.
