Ksora Azmidi sat on her chair and stared out the window. The Dean's office had a direct sight line to a park; hers only had a view of the parking lot. A few droplets of water snaked down the window, further impeding her view.
A sharp knock jolted her from her reverie. "Come in!" she said.
Professor Saif stepped through the door, a sword resting on his palms. "Doctoral Candidate," he softly said, voice holding the cadence of rituals.
Ksora scrambled out of her chair to kneel before him. "Professor." Her heart was hammering in her throat. She'd known this was coming, but anticipation could not hold a candle to reality.
"For four years you have dedicated yourself to the pursuit of truth," Professor Saif continued. "You have discovered something new and sharpened it into a truth. Now, it is time for you to defend it. But do not think the defense ends with the defeat of the snake." He drew a deep breath. "This sword is a symbol for your fight for what you have in rigorous research found to be good, right, and true. This is not a fight that can be won, only endured. Falsehood will come at you from every quarter. There is no end to snakes that hide in the grass. The fight is hard, lonely, and underfunded. Yet it is one that must be done and the path that you have chosen.
"Ksora Azmidi. I bestow upon you this sword for the fight before you. Sharpen it like you have sharpened your mind."
Ksora raised her hands, palms up, and let Professor Saif lower the sword down on them. "I will sharpen this blade like I have sharpened my tongue," she replied according to form.
Professor Saif smiled. "Rise, Ksora."
"What kind of snake will it be?" she blurted, now that the ritual was over.
"One of your articles was published in Nature," he chided. "Of course it'll be a small one."
"But did Facilities say?"
"You know they like to keep it a surprise." He reached out and squeezed Ksora's shoulder. "I know what it's like to fret, and I know that fretting isn't going to be useful. Sharpening your sword, on the other hand..."
"Yes, Prof," Ksora sighed.
Professor Saif patted her shoulder. "There you go. I know you'll take it by storm."
Ksora smiled wanly. "I'm glad for the vote of confidence."
"You'll always have it. Now, go play with the grindstones." With that, Professor Saif took his leave. Ksora thought she saw some dew in his eyes.
She looked down at the sword in her hands. The dark scabbard was emblazoned with the sigil of the university in a gold that matched the pommel of the sword. The hilt was mostly gold, save for a strip of black leather wrappped around the grip in a spiral. Drawing the sword revealed the blade to be golden as well. Elegant and decorative, but more than enough with which to take on a snake.
The grindstone room was buried deep within a basement. Ksora knew the room number, but it had still taken her a quarter hour to find the right stairwell to take her to the floor – most stair cases in the building started at the ground floor and went up; there was only one that started at the ground floor and descended into the realm of the heavy machinery of the materials engineering department. Ksora walked along long corridors lit with flickering fluorescent bulbs past doors marked with things like Wet Abrasion Lab and Textile Engineering before the flaking green paint of the grindstone room's door came to view.
She tapped her access card against the reader and stepped in. The door closed behind her with a heavy clack, bathing her in darkness.
Five seconds of fumbling later, she'd found the light switches. The room wasn't that large – four pedal-powered grindstones and a desk at the end with the rest of the sword-sharpening supplies – but it was comparatively well lit.
Ksora gathered what she needed and sat at the closest one. Nothing to do but get started.
On the day of the defense, Ksora stared at a packed auditorium, sharpened sword hanging from her hip. As she presented her research on Weyl semimetals and answered the questions, it burned in a corner of her mind: a reminder both of the her commitment to the truth and of the upcoming snake fight. She scanned the auditorium once more but didn't spot the snake or anyone obviously from Facilities.
"-and with that, we close for questions," Professor Saif said.
A hush fell upon the audience. Ksora felt her heart hammer in her chest as she tried to spot the snake. The floor was a lightly patterned pale grey laminate, so any green or brown snake would hopefully show clearly. She'd checked the formatting of her bibliography five times, so the snake probably wouldn't be venomous, which meant it wouldn't have warning colors and would instead be something plainer. They didn't want the snakes attacking the audience, so it'd likely come from the stairs instead of beneath the seats-
Something slithered down the stairs on the left. Ksora drew her sword.
The snake was tiny. It was maybe as long as Ksora's forearm and only slightly thicker than her middle finger. In coloration, it was deep green and slightly mottled. It stopped to flick out its tongue.
Ksora had in her heart prepared to fight venomous adders and pythons longer than she was tall. What she had not prepared for was fighting the most adorable little noodle imaginable.
She'd walked in imagining she would kill the snake. Abruptly, she felt a need for some alternative solution. She hadn't brought a flute and had no musical talent besides; her only tool was the sword that she had sharpened.
The was a burlap sack with the university logo printed on it hidden in the lectern. She shook it to make sure it was empty. Here goes nothing, she thought as she advanced upon the snake that was slowly coming to meet her.
When she stood in front of the snake, sword drawn and sack held in her other hand, the snake stopped. A friend of hers in animal behavior had told her that the rumors of snakes undergoing combat training were ridiculous, but in the moment they made eye contact, Ksora couldn't quite help but believe them.
She slowly reached out with her sword, blunt side up, and slid it under the snake's center of mass. When she judged her grip secure, she lifted the snake and deposited it in the bag. She tugged the strings that closed the sack.
"The snake has been defeated," her opponent declared. "Congratulations, Doctor Azmidi."
Two months and an international move later, Ksora Azmidi, PhD, came home from her first day of work as a postdoc. She dumped all the new cards and keys she'd been given on the nearest flat surface and headed for the freezer.
Frozen cockroach in hand, she headed for the tiny living room. Most of the floor space was taken up by a table that had a large terrarium on it. The terrarium's resident was currently resting on a branch under the UV lamp, tongue lazily flicking out to taste the air.
"Hello, Noodles," Ksora said and dropped the cockroach into the terrarium.
Noodles immediately perked up and attacked his prey. He could be surprisingly fast when he saw the need.
Ksora sat down on the stuffed chair next to the table and settled down to watch her small opponent eat and return to sunning himself. Outside, rain started to hammer the sidewalks. In here, nothing could disturb Ksora and Noodles' little slice of peace.