A modest chamber unfolded into what seemed an endless emerald expanse beneath an azure sky, where the wind danced with graceful abandon. The place evoked the faint echo of cherished, ancient memories.
On the opposite side, the rhythmic clash of wooden swords filled the air, briefly entwining in a lethal waltz. There stood young Kanami, honing his skills against a new companion: a wooden training doll, crafted to the stature of a teenager. Its design was exquisite, meticulously shaped by Mai's own hands—one of her earliest creations.
Mai observed intently, her thoughts drifting to the past, to the individual the doll was modeled after. Only sorrow lingered in her gaze—perhaps the sole remnant of him.
She watched Kanami grasp the fundamentals of swordsmanship through the doll. It was the young man's first encounter with blades and combat in his life. He grappled with comprehension, while Mai patiently guided him.
Returning to an earlier moment in the shop, Mai perched atop the washing machine. "What are your thoughts, Kanami, on the foes you've already faced? Speak to me." Kanami felt a blend of trepidation and assurance. "I'm uncertain. All I recall is tending to you when a strange sensation overtook me. It seemed my kitchen had severed ties with the real world, as if we were trapped in some void, with everything else suspended in time."
"And that man was unhinged. Something profoundly eerie emanated from him—that's all I can convey. Naturally, I was pummeled nearly to death, and it was because of you."
Mai regarded him and inquired once more, "Do you believe you could defeat him in a solitary duel?"
Kanami replied, "I don't know. It's not as though resolve alone alters outcomes. How could I stand a chance? I couldn't even perceive his movements."
Mai's response carried disappointment. "I had hoped for greater conviction. You aren't frail by nature; you merely require a mentor to instruct you in handling such riffraff. Fear not—we possess ample time. Grant me three days, and we shall be prepared."
Kanami stared at her in shock and fury. "Three days? We lack even that luxury. I'm unsure if we have a single hour before he discovers us."
Mai met his gaze with pride. "I would concur if I were some feeble soul. Remember, boy, who I am."
In an instant, Kanami sensed his body adrift, weightless. The peculiar sensation nauseated him. He opened his eyes to behold his surroundings. Disbelief washed over him. Mere seconds ago, he had been in the shop; now he stood within a vast, seemingly boundless meadow. Mai declared with assurance, "Your astonishment mirrors my own. None have witnessed this before. You are the first to behold one of my treasured masterpieces. Within this domain, time flows differently. Every second beyond equals an hour here. One and a half hours—that is all we require."
Kanami surveyed the infinite meadow. Its serenity was profound; he could easily lose himself within it. The gentle breeze, the vacant sky—everything radiated tranquility.
Turning, he beheld a woman in her twentieth year, hovering near the earth. Her flowing white hair, enchanting violet eyes, and porcelain skin—he had never encountered such beauty. Was this Mai's true form? Her attire differed from any he had known, indescribable in its elegance. The gown matched the hue of her eyes, adorned with intricate symbols in an unfamiliar script. In her grasp, she held a diminutive orb.
Kanami appeared bewildered by the vision. Mai tossed him a wooden sword. "Maintain your focus, child." He retorted angrily, "Who are you calling a child?" Mai disregarded him and began, "Listen closely. Over the next three days, we shall concentrate on three pillars: fortifying your elemental command and sharpening your intellect. I will teach you to harness your element and expand your mind through my guidance. As for physical prowess, I possess a modest boon from allies to aid us."
Kanami pondered briefly before speaking. "Do you truly believe three days suffice? I've never wielded a sword." Mai answered confidently, "I assured you it would. Now turn and attend to your adversary. In true combat, no one awaits your readiness." Kanami pivoted to confront the inert doll, clutching what appeared to be a wooden blade. Before he registered movement, he was hurled backward, barely parrying the strike.
Mai encouraged, "Persist, child. I've calibrated it to match a feral hunter's might. You are capable."
Kanami rolled away, gripped his sword steadfastly, and charged forward. He heard the doll circling him. Mai instructed, "Your initial objective: land a single blow. Demonstrate your mental agility."
Kanami dashed briefly, then faced the doll. Silence enveloped them; only the whisper of wind through grass remained. Clutching his sword, Kanami concentrated. One strike—far from impossible. He drew a deep breath, fixating solely on the doll's weapon. In the following moment, the blades collided in a graceful duel. Kanami labored to decipher the doll's patterns. He evaded one assault only to suffer another. Attempting simultaneous defense and offense proved futile—the doll lacked human limitations. Its joints rotated freely in full circles. Endurance would fail if he continued absorbing blows and retreating.
Meanwhile, Mai observed with keen interest, pondering how Kanami might achieve that solitary hit.
Kanami fought to maintain pace, realizing his inferiority in strength and speed. Defeat loomed imminent. Without swift ingenuity, his stamina would falter. He had already endured numerous strikes, each excruciating. Perhaps one minute remained before collapse.
The clatter of wood against wood echoed alone. Kanami strove for clarity. A sword was a tool, but was it the only one? Why not employ every limb in motion? This insight granted liberty to forge his unique style. Yet time and vigor waned; the final assault would decide all.
Kanami readied his sword for the decisive strike. Moments later, he lowered his guard, accepting the doll's blade into his chest. Agony surged, but resolve held. He kicked the doll's legs, toppling it, then unleashed a furious final blow before collapsing.
The skirmish spanned scarcely three minutes—the extent of Kanami's current capability. He succeeded ultimately, yet immobility claimed him. The concluding impact had been devastating; at least one or two bones fractured.
Mai approached. "Splendid effort, Kanami. I am genuinely impressed—I scarcely anticipated your triumph. Well done." Within seconds, the pain ebbed. His form mended; shattered bones reformed, bruises vanished. Mai explained, "Rest now. What have you gleaned?"
Kanami gazed wearily. "I was unaware you could mend wounds." Mai clarified, "Healing eludes me. I merely rewind your body to its state prior to injury. A severed limb could be restored thus, though it demands immense energy. In the Forgetting Land of old, no one wielded such power. Simply put, you may perish repeatedly; we can always revert time to preserve you. It resembles a curse, does it not?"
Kanami fell silent, torn between awe and despondency. To endure death, agony, and reversal repeatedly offered little comfort. Yet it could safeguard others—a bittersweet irony, for the ability spared all but himself. Pain subsided, but mental fatigue persisted.
Mai regarded him. "Rest presently. In half an hour, we commence your elemental training. Seize this respite."
She provided water and sustenance. "At this pace, we shall conclude ahead of schedule, fully prepared for battle."
Kanami accepted, eating in contemplation. Lately, he felt utterly adrift. Events unfolded with bewildering rapidity; he struggled to adapt. Such was existence—unyielding, indifferent to one's readiness. Was he ensnared, compelled onward as his world spiraled downward? Did it matter? What if he refused combat, surrendered? Choice seemed illusory. Regardless of trials, he would reset to the origin. No matter the deaths, he would be thrust forward anew. He banished these notions. Come what may, he would not falter. One purpose anchored him—he could not yield