Narantuya wakes from the dream with a start. She feels as though she has a piece of smouldering charcoal in her throat, and all she can hear is the unbearable clanging of metal that filled her dream. She walks out of the tent. There is no moon in the sky, and the wind blows towards the depths of the desert like galloping cavalrymen. 'Clank! Clank!' The sound of metal banging on metal keeps getting louder. Narantuya looks around her, trying to find the source of the sound, only to discover that the black scimitar on her belt is vibrating violently. She grabs the hilt, hoping to stop the movement, only for it to vibrate even harder, causing her arm to go numb and her eyes to see stars. 'Stop!' She roars, clutching the blade even harder. The black scimitar drags her stumbling into the night. She sees a hammer the size of a mountain slamming upon a red-hot anvil. The metal screams along the distant drums of war, sending golden sparks flying like drops of sweat. The hammer scorns ordinary iron and turns the indestructible anvil into a scimitar! The war drums grow closer. She sees someone take the scimitar and walk at the front of an expedition, cutting through bones and tattered banners. Then at some point, the wielder dies, and the scimitar falls to the sand. Narantuya realizes that they are the same sands she now stands upon. '...No,' she says, 'That's not me!' No longer trying to stop the blade's restlessness, she throws it with all her might, as though trying to smash the mirage in the sandstorm. 'I don't care who you are! I walk my own path! If you do not wish to accompany me, then so be it!' Narantuya is unsure if she actually said those words, because the very next instant she stumbles and falls to the sand. ... Narantuya awakens to find her drinking buddies fanning her, half-concerned, half-fearful. 'Was I drunk?' The stall owner doesn't answer. He smiles and continues his work, mixing the booze with water. 'Where's my sword?!' Narantuya reaches towards her belt and breaks out in a cold sweat. Her drinking buddies lead her to a great rock. 'How the heck did you even do this, Narantuya?' She rubs her eyes. Yes, it is her black scimitar alright, buried inside the rock all the way to the hilt. She tries to pull it out, but neither sword nor rock budge in the slightest. 'There was a bit of thunder last night. You came out of your tent, looking a little tipsy, and cussed out the clouds before drawing your sword and swinging it at the rock, just like that!' One of her drinking buddies says, 'You scared the living daylights out of me. I'll pay back the drinking money I owe you today...' 'You were scary alright. I remember that you yelled—' 'Yelled what?' The memory is coming back. She is pleasantly surprised that she managed to come up with a declaration so powerful, and would not mind hearing it again from someone else. 'You yelled—'I'll trade you in for one made of gold if you don't stay put!'' 'What? Wait, shouldn't it be—' 'Yeah, that was it. I heard it too. Definitely sounds like something you'd say, Narantuya.' '...'