Now strolling around the room, taking in its alien atmosphere. Sylveon was focused on every step I made, and I turned to him, the question already tumbling out of my mouth.
"Is there any sword in here?" I asked.
He then blinked at my question, then nodded Yes, [There are swords in here. Elijah keeps a few weapons stored away in that closet, but mostly for protection, I think.]
Sylveon hesitated a little, and began to look at me with concern. [Why do you need one? Are you planning to leave already?]
"I'm not planning to leave," I said. "Truth is, I've never even swung a blade before. I just… need to do something. Anything that makes me feel like I've taken the first step. Even if all I'm doing is cutting at empty air, at least it's a beginning."
Then, with a nod, Sylveon's ears twitched as he slowly padded over to the nearby closet. Using his paw, he nudged a simple training sword out, letting it clatter softly onto the floor in front of me.
[Here. If you're going to learn, start with this. It's lighter—easier to handle.]
He hesitated for a moment before adding, [But... Leon. A sword isn't just a tool for destruction. It can be a shield, too. Just... remember that, okay?]
The moment my hands wrapped around the simple wooden hilt, a profound, alien sense of familiarity coursed through me. I gripped the rough wood tightly, the feeling of the weapon—even this basic one—somehow grounding the chaotic feeling surging in me.
Pushing through the feeling, I straightened, feeling the slight, balanced weight of the blade. I had never touched a sword before. Yet, as I slowly raised the weapon, forcing my body to execute a simple, deliberate swing—a vertical cut I remembered seeing in faint, fragmented memories.
Woosh.
The blade sliced the air with a faint whisper.
The sensation was raw and shocking. It felt right. The sword, though simple and unmagical, felt like an extension of my own powerful, yet desperately awkward form. I repeated the movement, the small shift in weight as the blade accelerated feeling intensely satisfying.
Sylveon, watched me, his head tilted, his adorable eyes tracking every movement.
"This..." I whispered, lowering the sword.
My gaze now on Sylveon, I asked, "Earlier I asked if it was just the two of us in this building. I also need to know where the nearest settlement or anyone else might be, because all I can see from the window is open grassland."
[Yes, right now, it's just you and me in this building. Elijah left earlier—I don't know when he'll be back.]
He then padded over to the window and peered outside. [The nearest town is a few kilometers away. This place....is in an old military training ground. Not many people come here anymore.]
Turning back to me, he added, [If you're thinking of going somewhere, you should be careful. The grasslands stretch for a while before you reach civilization. And you still don't have all your memories back yet. Are you sure you're ready?]
"Thanks, but I'm not heading anywhere. I just want a bit of quiet while I swing the sword outside. That's all."
Then, Sylveon nodded in understanding.
.....
Now outside the building, with the green grassland stretching out before me, I finally got a full sense of the place.
The cottage itself was simple—just a wooden home dropped right in the middle of a wide, open field. I still couldn't wrap my head around how someone like Elijah managed to claim a spot like this.
Sylveon mentioned it used to be a military drilling ground, and that people rarely came here because of that. But the grass was too lush now, too green. Whatever happened here was a long time ago. By now, people should be roaming around, settling, building something. Yet Elijah was the only one out here.
It didn't add up, that was all, however, I tried not to bother myself with it.
When I glanced back at the cottage, Sylveon was curled near the door, watching me. I gave him a small nod, smiled, then tightened my grip on the sword and began to swing.
The blade cut through the air with a sharp whoosh.
Again.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
The sound echoed across the empty field, each swing a little steadier than the last. My arms trembled at first, not from any unfamiliarity, but the lack of sufficient strength that came with this body.
I shifted my stance, corrected my footing, let the weight of the sword pull my center of gravity where it needed to be. Then I swung again.
Whoosh.
A cleaner arc this time.
I didn't feel like I was learning from scratch, as my body moved with small, instinctive hints—nothing clear, nothing complete—just fragments. A step pattern. A wrist adjustment. The faint memory of white haired kids training under an open sky. But it was all still foggy. Nothing solid enough to lean on.
So I let the movements come naturally.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
The blade carved the air with a flow that slowly became my own.
I inhaled. Stepped forward, and let the sword flow with me.
Whoosh—crack.
A gust rippled through the grass from the force of the swing, but my balance fumbled against the swing. But the next arc came smoother. Straighter, as my shoulders aligned. My hips followed through.
It felt… good. Simple. Honest.
Sylveon lifted his head from near the cottage door, watching me with those calm eyes, ears flicking every time the air snapped.
I tightened my grip and kept going.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.
.
.
After what felt like endless swings, the sun finally dipped low and evening was approaching. With that, I collapsed onto the grass, breathing hard. Every muscle complained, every muscle ached. This body wasn't anywhere close to being conditioned for real sword work.
Then Sylveon trotted over and pushed his head onto my lap, as I let my fingers run through his fur.
Looking at him, I couldn't stop a small laugh from slipping out. It felt… good. In my old life I'd always been a dog person, but having Sylveon was on a whole different level. He could talk.
For once, something in this world felt right.