The cold bit deep into Kaoru's skin, but he welcomed it. The dawn sun barely touched the vast mountain clearing where he trained alone. Snow drifted gently around him, turning golden in the faint light.
Kaoru's bare hands pressed into the icy ground as he pushed himself up and down in slow, steady rhythm. Each breath turned to mist, each drop of sweat froze before it hit the snow.
If my blood is special, he told himself as his arms burned and trembled, then my body must be worthy of it.
When his arms gave in, he moved to a sturdy pine branch. He pulled himself up until his chin brushed the rough bark, then dropped down and did it again. And again. The frost dug into his palms, but he didn't stop.
When his muscles throbbed like fire under frozen skin, he turned to the massive boulder that had become his greatest enemy. He wrapped a rough rope around its middle, braced his feet in the snow, and pulled.
Veins bulged in his arms and neck as the boulder shifted. It rose an inch, two — slipped from his grasp, and crashed back with a dull thud that echoed through the empty forest. Kaoru fell to his knees, gasping, chest heaving in the bitter cold.
Break my limits, he thought, eyes locked on the unmovable stone. Again. And again.
---
Days passed in a blur of snow and pain.
Each morning he rose before the sun, sweat steaming in the icy air as he forced his body to obey. Push-ups until his arms buckled. Pull-ups until his grip failed. Lifting the boulder until it felt lighter — just enough to fight back.
Sometimes, when his strength gave out, Kaoru would lie in the snow and watch the clouds drift overhead — the frostbite dragon buried in his blood whispering to him from some distant place he couldn't yet reach.
---
One evening, exhausted and bruised, Kaoru sat on the cold stone steps outside the Mikage house. His breath curled around him like smoke. The door creaked open, and his mother stepped out.
Ayame's hair glowed soft silver in the lantern light. In her hands, she carried a long bundle wrapped in faded cloth.
She stopped before him, her eyes gentle yet unyielding.
"Kaoru," she said, her voice calm, "stand up."
Kaoru looked up, confused, but rose to his feet. His arms ached, but he stood straight.
Ayame lowered herself to her knees and placed the bundle in his hands. The cloth felt rough under his fingers, but the weight was familiar somehow — like it had always belonged there.
"Your father wielded this blade," Ayame said softly, unwrapping the cloth to reveal an old katana. Its hilt was bound in faded blue silk, the steel faintly etched with frost-like patterns that glimmered in the light. "Until the day he left to guard us all."
Kaoru's throat tightened. He shook his head and tried to push the sword back.
"I'm not worthy of this yet," he whispered.
Ayame's smile was tired but fierce, the firelight dancing in her eyes.
"Your father said, 'When Kaoru turns sixteen, give him this blade. He'll know what to do.'"
Kaoru's fingers trembled as they curled around the hilt. The cold steel reflected his worn face — a boy standing in the shadow of a legend.
"Father believed in me?" he asked.
Ayame nodded. "He knew you would carry his will. Just as I know now. This sword belongs to you — and to the spirit you hold inside."
Kaoru lowered his eyes to the blade. Snow fell around them in soft silence, covering the old steps where father and son's path crossed without ever meeting.
---
Days later, Kaoru stood alone in the clearing where the snow lay untouched — except for the line of thick bamboo trunks planted firmly in the frozen ground.
He drew the katana slowly, the steel whispering in the cold. His breath misted as he took his stance — feet steady, eyes fixed ahead.
If I can't cut through this… I'll never be ready.
The first swing landed with a dull thud. The blade bit into the bamboo but didn't break it. The shock jolted through his arms.
Kaoru clenched his teeth, drew the sword back, and swung again. Another thud — a shallow cut. Snow fell from the bamboo as if mocking him.
He dropped to his knees, breath ragged, hands raw where the hilt rubbed them raw. The cold pressed against his skin, but anger burned hotter.
Not enough. Again.
He rose, raised the sword, and swung once more — a sharp crack split the quiet as the bamboo split deeper.
---
Days turned to weeks. The routine carved itself into him like the edge of the blade. Swing after swing, dawn to dusk, until blisters became calluses and weakness turned to steel.
One cold morning, the blade sliced clean through the bamboo with a single swing. The trunk fell into the snow, a crisp snap echoing in the empty clearing.
Kaoru stood frozen, panting, staring at the fallen bamboo. Then he stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the next trunk.
One swing — CRACK.
Another — THWACK.
Snow scattered like feathers as Kaoru moved through the line, blade flashing under the pale sun.
When the last bamboo fell, he lowered the katana. Frost clung to his breath as he looked up at the mountain peak beyond the clearing.
---
That night, Kaoru climbed to the highest cliff overlooking his frozen world.
The katana rested across his shoulders as he watched the moon, full and bright, staring back at him like a watchful eye.
The wind howled, but Kaoru did not shiver.
Father… Mother… he thought as the cold stars glimmered above. I will protect everything. I promise.