"Peace is never the absence of conflict. It is the silence before someone dares to break it." - Prince Qinglua
The morning bells of Harama rang softly, their tones carried by the forest breeze. The station walls curved gently around the Academy, not like the fortress squares of Durama, but like open arms. Here, peace still breathed. The air was crisp with pine and river mist, and the courtyards glowed faintly with the first light of dawn.
Ken Hiroki tightened the wraps around his fists, impatience flickering in his eyes. "If I land the first strike, Kabe, you owe me your share of dumplings at lunch."
His younger brother stood across the sparring circle, posture already firm, measured. Kabe Hiroki's gaze was calm, his wooden blade held with quiet precision. "And if I win, you owe me silence for an entire day. Can you manage that?"
Ken laughed, charging before the last word left Kabe's mouth. Their clash echoed through the courtyard, wooden blades striking with sparks of youthful fire. Around them, the other students cheered or winced, while the mentors looked on from the shaded veranda.
Tina-sensei leaned against a pillar, her arms folded. "Ken throws himself in without thinking. Again." Her voice carried that mix of fondness and warning that all her students knew.
Ayumi-sensei shook her head, though her smile betrayed her amusement. "Reckless hearts sometimes survive where careful minds falter."
"Not if they break their neck first," Reka-sensei muttered, flipping a scroll closed.
Only Azuma-sensei stayed silent, his sharp gaze tracking every movement as though testing both brothers for something more than a spar.
The bout ended as it always did: Ken rushing too far, Kabe deflecting with steady precision, the two tumbling into the dust together. Laughter rose, but beneath it, a quiet pride lingered. Even in failure, the Hiroki brothers pulled one another back to their feet.
Later, as the courtyard emptied, the younger children darted in. Hamori and Nai - Ken's sons - trailed behind a wooden toy cart, arguing over who would steer it down the stone steps. Hanabi, Kabe's daughter, stood arms crossed, already lecturing them about balance. Their voices filled the courtyard with a different kind of energy - light, unbroken, fragile.
For a moment, it seemed the Academy's walls could hold that peace forever.
But Harama had its shadows too. The shrine bell at the far end of the courtyard was cracked down the middle, its voice muted. Some said it split during the First Scarring, when the myths tore open the sky. Others said it cracked on the day the Compact was sworn, as if peace itself demanded sacrifice.
Ken touched the bell as he passed it, frowning at the cold iron. For a heartbeat, he thought he heard it whisper his name.
That night, when the halls of the Academy had gone quiet, he dreamed of a trail lined with bones and mirrors, where a voice whispered: "You'll walk this path again. But when you forget, the world will remind you."
Ken woke with a start, the sound of the cracked bell still ringing in his ears.
And as dawn crept once over Harama, Kabe's voice drifted softly from his bedroll beside him. "Someday, brother… this peace will end. And we'll need to be ready."