Two and a half months. That's how long it took her to reach the country of Murrough from home. Literally halfway around the world. But there was a slight smile on her face. The trip had been wonderful. She had boarded a series of railroads cross-continent for the first several thousand miles, heading west. Every trip meticulously planned, every stop containing new wonders. Even with her faulty grasp of some of the languages on the way, she managed to make it all the way to Egran. All on League coin, of course. Once there, she found the man her bosses had arranged her to meet with, who took her the rest of the way in a balloon drifting on the northwestern currents. And here at last she stood, in the mountainous green countryside of Murrough, in front of a smaller, more man-made mound. A barrow.

The people of this country, as she understood used to bury their dead in these mounds. Not so different from her own culture at one point, she noted. But unfortunately, she wasn't really here for the culture lessons. The League had gotten wind of a special kind of Pact Beast supposedly making its home here. Known to the people of the country as the Banshee, the beast was purported to appear in the form of a hag or a maiden before a death was to occur, and lament their passing. This one in particular was apparently responsible for the deaths of many before her, fitting with her motif. As she pulled open the heavy, ancient stone door, she grimaced a bit and hoped her skill with the blade by her side was enough to defend herself.

A few steps into the old burial site and the door slid shut behind her with a heavy grating sound, making her jump. She reached for her blade and looked around, but only a dim room greeted her, darkness pierced in places by beams of sunlight pouring in from tiny slits in the ceiling. Carefully, she made her way forward. The place smelled of decay, with some bodies laid to rest in indents in the walls. Others were shut under heavy stone lids in their tombs. The dead weren't what unsettled her, however. It was the distinct presence of eyes watching her. She eventually came to a stop at what must have been the back of the mound, with no discernible way forward. As she began to wonder what would come next, light burst into being within the mound, torches lighting with ghostly blue fire behind her, bathing the place in bright light. She whirled around, and standing ten paces away was an old woman, calmly sitting on a wooden chair. Nearby, in three similar chairs, were... people. Two men, and a woman, from what Fourier could tell. All three were bound to their seats, their heads covered in strangely carved masks entirely engulfing their heads. No holes for eyes nor ears, but she could see each's labored breathing from the way their stomachs moved.

"You who seek the woman of the barrows. You have found her." the old woman said calmly. Her voice spoke in strange tongues, but Fourier found she could understand her all the same. The swordswoman cautiously began to approach. "...What is this?" she asked in her native language. The banshee laughed, clearly understanding in turn, and responded, standing. "I am the Banshee, Lady of the Wailing. I represent impending Doom. The finite span of a mortal's life. 'Memento mori'. Remember that you will die. And this, young lady, is the trial I bestow upon you." Reaching within her robes, the banshee drew a dusty broadsword, and offered it to Fourier. The EGG in turn hesitantly took the weapon. Much heavier than her simple wakizashi, this was almost certainly a blade native to these lands. What she was intended to do with it, however... she glanced between the woman and the three captives, listening intently.

"The door that sealed behind you is bound with magic. None shall leave this place until the trial is concluded. One person in this room bears the burden of deep sin. One person in this room must be killed to complete this trial. Shed the blood of an innocent, however, and you too, shall die." Fourier frowned. "I have to... kill someone, to complete this trial?" The hag nodded solemnly. "Yes, and the correct one at that." She gestured at the first man, bound to his chair. "This man is an officer of law, sworn to uphold the peace. He has seen much in his fifty years. It is not out of the question that he could have intentionally imprisoned innocent men on a grudge, or accepted bribes from criminals."

The hag moved on, standing now behind the bound woman. "This one is a farmer. In the face of blight affecting her land, she has done things she is not proud of, simply to make coin to survive. Perhaps one night, she lured a man to her bed, only to slit his throat and take his coin."

And then, she stood behind the second man. "A trader who has made extravagant wealth dealing in precious metals and minerals. Whose backs has he stepped on to reach these lofty heights? Does this man deserve to die?"

Fourier thought hard, staring at the three captives. She hadn't noticed until now, but the quivering of the broadsword blade in her hand brought her attention to the fact that her hand was trembling. Her throat felt dry. Was this... could this really be the only way to secure the banshee's aid?

"What... if I refuse?" she asked, attempting to sound brave, but instead her voice came out meek. The crone chortled. "Then you will die eventually anyway. In, ah... three days, give or take, from dehydration. And so will they. It is of course, your choice."

Fourier felt her legs begin to give, and feebly, she reached for the chair the old woman had vacated to give herself support. "...I do not know if I have it within me to pass such judgement with such little information..." She gradually worked her way down into the chair, now leaning on the strange sword for support. "...Could you... please repeat your trial?" she asked, after what felt like an eternity of pondering. The crone nodded. "None shall leave this place until the trial is concluded. One person in this room bears the burden of deep sin. One person in this room must be killed to complete this trial. Shed the blood of an innocent, however, and you too, shall die."

She stared at the captives once more, then asked. "Those masks they wear... can they hear what we are saying?" The banshee shook her head. "They cannot. They are proof against sight and sound." Fourier began to think long and hard on this subject, before finally speaking.

"There is an old tale in my land, of three monkeys. One of grass, one of water, and one of fire. Each covers a part of himself to protect themselves from evil. The first, his eyes. See no evil. The second, his mouth. Speak no evil. The third, his ears. Hear no evil. ...Looking upon these three I cannot help but be reminded of those monkeys... Those masks... I think they are proof that all three are innocent." The crone looked surprised. "Oh?" Fourier nodded. "Apart from the symbolism... all I have to go on concerning their supposedly evil acts are your words. I cannot ask them for their account. They could not tell me even if they could hear. They cannot even see the woman who is tasked with judging them. Who am I to judge them in such a fashion? No. They are all three innocent in my eyes."

The banshee hrmed at her words. "Then what is your answer?" Fourier began to stand, and pointed the heavy broadsword at the crone. "You are the one who is burdened with sin, lady of the barrows. A trial in which a person might be tricked into committing murder, a trial which you have carried out many times by now, is the cause of that weight." The old woman began to laugh, and moved to take an offensive posture. "Then you would seek to kill me? Know that I will not make it easy on you." The two held each other's gazes locked for a long time, but Fourier slowly lowered her weapon.

"...no. You are not the one either. I did... notice the way you worded the trial. You said one bears the burden of deep sin, and one must die. You did not say they were the same person. It is also your nature through your Concept that forces your hand in this matter... Can I truly judge you as guilty, despite the burden you bear...? You appear when someone is about to die, and yet, in the world of these three who cannot see or here us, you do not exist. ...Y-you are here to herald... my death." The crone relaxed, her amused expression now deadly serious. "Is that your answer, then?"

Fourier nodded, her arms still trembling, but she took the blade she was given, and cut into herself. The metal sliced deeply, and her body flooded with unimaginable pain. But just as she was about to black out, the crone lifted her hand, and something... tugged at Fourier, keeping her in this world. A gentle light began to stream out into the sword, mixed with her blood.

"Well done." the crone softly congratulated her. The captives vanished from the room in an instant, and she began to walk forward, her human body melting away into a strange and beautiful maiden with long, white hair and pale skin, wearing a tattered robe - and clearly no longer human. The Concept Beast cradled the young woman in her arms as Fourier found herself losing the strength to stand. "By the terms of the Pact you came to seek, I name you my master. In a state between the worlds do you exist now. You are dead, but you are yet alive. I will serve you. My condition is only... memento mori. Remember that you will die. Do not take your life for granted, and spread joy to others while they yet live." And then, the banshee began to sing. The song was haunting and beautiful to Fourier's ears, and she noticed as the music filled her heart, the light flowing into the sword intensified. With a painful tug, she pulled the broadsword free of her abdomen, and it shone with a brilliant blue light, before taking on the aspect of a Pact Beast. Fourier's own body began to become engulfed by blue flame, turning ghostly in appearance. But only for a moment - the flames died and she found herself whole once more.

The banshee smiled and motioned to the sword. "The blade is now imbued with a mixture of our spirits, yours and mine. Do not be surprised if it takes a mind of its own. But it and I shall serve you well."

And that is the tale of how Fourier would form a Pact with the Banshee, as well as the guardian blade she would carry. Her powers would blossom into the ghostly supernatural. And after some time, we would come to the beginning of our story...