She stood on the training ground, swinging her sword. For some reason, it felt strange to be training on her own. Until recently, her training had always come at someone else's instruction.
Now, she was doing it of her own will. And while that felt good, the awkwardness still lingered.
At first, her swings were random and unrefined. Later that day, Penre passed by and offered her a few pointers.
She saw the flaws in her form and began to adjust. Though old habits kicked in often, she pressed on.
Zin would appear every few hours, quietly observing her from the tree canopies.
By evening—after the sun had set and another, smaller sun had taken its place—Gilly had completed a thousand swings. She felt... accomplished.
She had never done anything on her own before. That small sense of achievement brought a smile to her face.
After washing up, she went for a canopy run through the forest for about an hour.
Then, after a quick dinner, she went to bed.
---
The next morning, Zin greeted her silently and handed her a small book. Without saying a word, he walked off.
The book was old and worn, written in a strange language.
"Language beatification is now active," a monotone voice echoed in her mind.
Suddenly, the text shifted before her eyes—translated in real time. She remembered this happening before, with various signs and symbols around the city.
The book was filled with detailed sword stances and diagrams. To her, it looked like a user manual for swordsmanship.
At the training ground, she sat under the shed reading while the cadets and trainees ran drills. She had no space to train yet, so she used the time to read.
As she flipped through the pages, she found some movements labeled as basic, though they looked either overly exaggerated or oddly stylized.
But she reminded herself—this wasn't Genesis anymore. She paid close attention to the inscriptions.
By the time she finished the first chapter, the training ground had emptied. She hadn't even noticed the crowd disperse.
From atop the canopy, Zin watched silently. Then he blurred and vanished.
---
Gilly pulled out a wooden sword, shaped like a katana, and began practicing again.
She managed five hundred swings in the next hour.
Then, she tried replicating the movements from the book's basics section.
Something was off. Her form felt stiff—unnatural.
She returned to the book, flipping pages back and forth, trying to understand.
Eventually, she gave up and resumed the swings Penre had taught her.
That evening, after a short bath and some reading, she drifted to sleep.
---
By the following day— the last in the day cycle—night was approaching, and she decided to take a break.
While strolling through the town, she found herself at the massive tree in its center.
At its base, about to enter the library nestled into its roots, stood Zenora.
Gilly joined her and spent some time in the tree-library, getting to know her better.
Zenora was brilliant when it came to magic. She even showed Gilly a few playful tricks.
She was also mischievous, always eager to pull harmless but irritating pranks.
Gilly had already been a victim. Once, Zenora gave her a small metal ball. The moment it touched Gilly's palm, it exploded into thick smoke, leaving her covered in soot.
After chatting for a while, Gilly learned that Ephini was away on a mission and wouldn't return for six days.
Eventually, Gilly brought up her problem. She explained how she'd been trying to train using the book Zin gave her, but she kept getting stuck.
Zenora took the book, skimmed through it, and closed her eyes as if deep in thought. Then she opened them suddenly and said,
"I don't get it either."
Gilly stared. She'd fallen for another prank.
Zenora smirked, then continued more seriously:
"You said your movements felt rigid, right? I think the foundation behind swordsmanship and mana use is the same."
Gilly tilted her head. She had never studied either subject deeply, and it showed.
Zenora's eyes drifted across the shelves. She turned back to Gilly.
"The key to both is breathing patterns and mana circulation."
Now Gilly looked completely lost. Her expression gave her away.
Zenora sighed and walked over to a shelf she had glanced at earlier.
Despite being younger and smaller than Gilly, the way she moved gave her an oddly mature air.
She returned and dropped a book in front of Gilly.
"This should help. I'll be at the far end practicing."
Gilly nodded and dove into the book.
Time slipped away.
By the time she looked up, the daylight had nearly faded.
Just inches from her face stood Zenora, watching her.
"You sure have some serious focus. I've been calling your name for like five minutes, but you were completely tuned out."
Gilly blinked. "Can you please move? You're too close to my face."
Zenora laughed. That was not the reaction she expected.
"So... did you learn anything?"
Gilly sighed. "I think I understand what you were trying to say earlier... but I don't know how to actually apply it."
"Why don't you ask Zin?"
Gilly got up and left the library without responding.
Zenora didn't take it personally. She already knew—Zin was a lazy teacher. Gilly's expression confirmed it.
---
At the training grounds, Gilly found Pom sitting alone.
She waved.
He grinned. "Guessing you're here to figure out why your training hit a wall?"
Gilly froze.
"I saw you yesterday. Apart from the swings, the rest of it looked like a monkey dancing on a rope."
Her face flushed with embarrassment.
"But," he added, "I've been waiting for you. Zin's out of town, so he asked me to help."
And with that, Pom began to explain the importance of breathing during movement and swings.
Gilly followed along, though it was difficult.
She had never been taught like this before.
But little by little, she began to grasp it.
By the time they were done, three moons had risen.
They said their goodbyes and parted ways.
---
Later, lying in bed, Gilly thought of her friends—Sara, Fed, Uyi… and the many others who had died.
She swore in her heart to grow stronger.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Eventually, sleep began to take her.
But just before she drifted off, she heard a voice—calm, clinical, familiar:
"Existence verified. Adding additional ego to the soul. The soul is strained by the amount of ego it contains. Making minor adjustments."
She tried to stay awake, alarmed by the words.
But the weight of sleep was too much.
Then another voice—softer, famil
iar in a different way. The one she'd heard in the forest after her mother's voice.
"Sleep, fragile me. We'll talk more tomorrow."
Her eyes closed.
And she fell into slumber.