POV: Ren
The ancient grounds of the dojo in Kyoto were still cloaked in morning fog when I arrived. Moss blanketed the old stones, and the scent of pine hung thick in the air. The building was modest—aged wood, sliding paper doors, a silent courtyard surrounded by bamboo.
I wore simple training clothes. No crest. No insignia. No display of status or power. Today, I was no emperor, no ruler of dimensions. Just a boy with a promise to keep—to Airi, to myself.
And to the blade.
The master greeted me with a nod but said nothing. He was thin and stern, his white gi pristine, his hair tied in a topknot that hadn't changed in forty years. The look in his eyes told me everything: I was nothing here until proven otherwise.
We bowed.
I did not rise until he did.
Lesson One: Stillness
"Kenjutsu is not about cutting your enemy," the master said as we stood beneath the rising sun. "It is about never needing to."
For the first hour, we did not move.
We stood.
Knees bent. Hands folded. Breathing slow.
I could feel the tension in my legs, the whisper of the wind through the bamboo, the stillness demanding presence. Not power. Not speed. Just presence.
I felt my empire stir within me, but I kept it sealed—tightly locked beneath my skin. There was no throne here. No divine fire.
Only me. My breath. My shadow.
Lesson Two: Cut Without Sound
When he finally handed me a wooden bokken, he did so without ceremony.
"Show me what you think a cut is."
I stepped forward, adjusted my stance, and slashed with textbook precision.
He shook his head.
"That was choreography. Not intention. Again."
This time I closed my eyes. I imagined a line of water before me, imagined cutting not to destroy—but to pass through. A single arc, slow and clean.
The blade moved. No sound.
When I opened my eyes, the master was watching me differently.
He said nothing. But he nodded.
Evening Tea
By the end of the day, my body ached in places I rarely noticed. I sat cross-legged on the wooden porch, tea in hand, watching a single koi ripple the pond below.
My communicator buzzed. Airi.
—Airi: Did you get hurt?
I smiled faintly.
—Ren: Not at all. I learned stillness.
—Airi: Stillness?
—Ren: The kind that cuts deeper than blades.
She didn't reply right away. Then:
—Airi: I miss you.
—Ren: I'll be home soon.
The moon rose over Kyoto, soft and distant.
Tomorrow, the master said I would learn the draw.
And after that, the walk.
I would bow to every blade.
One by one.
Day three. The sun had not yet risen, but the stone underfoot had already grown warm. The master was already waiting in the courtyard, a silhouette beneath the overhanging roof.
Today, he said, I would learn aruki kata — the step. Movement in kenjutsu was not about distance. It was about presence. Flow. The will that moves before the body.
"A warrior who moves before he sees is already dead," he said.
He took his place on the mat and gestured.
"Walk."
I did. Slowly, heel to toe, breathing in rhythm with the weight of the sword.
"Again."
So I walked.
Again.
And again.
The Fall and the Fix
Halfway through the morning, he struck my ankle with a bamboo rod.
Not hard. But sharp enough to correct.
"You leaned. Warriors don't lean. They shift. They commit."
I nodded. No anger. Only adjustment.
Again, I walked.
Again, I corrected.
By the time we paused for water, sweat soaked through the inner lining of my training gi.
Connection in Silence
During a brief rest, I checked my device. A single message from Astraea.
—Astraea: Are you content there?
I stared at it for a long while.
—Ren: I am not content. But I am present.
No reply came.
I didn't expect one.
The Blade Follows the Step
Afternoon brought another lesson: pairing the step with a draw. The master demonstrated three times.
Each time, his body moved like flowing water. Nothing exaggerated. Nothing wasted.
My attempts were stiffer. But not empty.
He watched me, arms crossed.
"Better than yesterday," he said. "Still too much thought."
I closed my eyes. Let the foot move, then the hand. The blade followed.
When I opened my eyes, he was already walking away.
"Tomorrow," he said, "you learn to fall."
The Edge of Thought
That evening, I walked alone through the temple gardens. Fireflies hovered beneath trees. The sound of running water echoed from a distant spring.
I did not reach for my empire. I did not listen to the goddesses. I left them all in silence.
Here, I walked.
And my blade walked with me.
The path stretched forward. And I did not yet know where it would end.
But each step I took made it mine.