The twin-headed sword in his hand trembled, with new twigs added, Malin fell silent—this tender branch of the World Tree surely knew the Maya of this world.
Its master had died, and now only this one lover remained in front of him, perhaps awakened by Malin's bloodline, but it bore the memories of the past, its lament.
The Black Bride turned around, and she lunged forward with afterimages once more, only to be caught by Malin as he grasped one end of the twin-headed sword and swept her, along with her sword, down onto the muddy ground.
Having received a blessing, Malin, who had once again bested the Black Bride in strength, was not joyful.
He was trying to save his sister, the little leopard girl lying on the ground was his sister, but he was also destroying his sister; the woman now struggling to rise, her whispers interspersed with sobs, was also his sister.
