POV: Ren
The morning air was crisp, biting at my skin as I entered the courtyard. Today, the master had said, I would learn how to fall. Not figuratively. Not in metaphor. But the physical collapse of a body meeting the ground.
He stood before me, holding a bamboo staff.
"Every warrior falls. Those who rise again know how."
He gestured to the center.
"Come."
I obeyed.
Breaking the Fall
The first impact came fast. A sweep to my ankle. My body twisted, shoulder first.
Pain. Not sharp, but spreading.
The master grunted.
"Poor form. Don't catch yourself. Redirect."
He showed me. A roll. A turn. The way to let the earth take you without breaking bones.
I repeated it.
Then again.
And again.
By the fifth time, my elbows no longer slammed. My shoulders turned inward. The fall became fluid.
I began to understand.
Pain and Patience
By noon, my body ached. My back was sore, my arms trembling. But I stayed.
Falling was not weakness. It was a lesson in humility.
He struck again. I fell properly this time.
He nodded once.
"Now you can fight. Because now you can lose."
I stayed on the ground longer than necessary. Breathing. Letting the pain become memory, not enemy.
Letters Across Distance
Later that evening, back in my room, I opened my device. Messages waited.
—Elira: The goddesses are quieter lately. I think they miss you.
—Airi: I asked my gym teacher if we could set up a kendo lesson. He said yes! I'm terrible, though.
—Astraea: I haven't cried again. Not yet. But I still think of that night.
I paused.
Typed:
—Ren: I fell today. Properly.
—Astraea: And?
—Ren: I got up. Better.
No reply.
End of the Day
I stood beneath the open sky, stars breaking between clouds. The bruises on my body hummed softly, not in protest, but as reminders.
Fall. Rise. Fall again.
The path was not one of triumph. It was one of return.
And I would walk it fully.
POV: Ren
One week passed like a dream stitched together with sweat, bruises, and breathless repetition.
Every morning began before the sun, and every evening ended beneath the cold starlight. I did not speak much, nor did the master. The lessons spoke for themselves—draw, strike, step, fall. Repeat.
By the fifth day, I no longer stumbled on the uneven stones. My blade no longer whispered— it sang. Each cut became an extension of thought. Each fall became a conscious dance with gravity. My body moved before my mind did. Intuition had replaced calculation.
I had become silence with a blade.
A Master's Test
On the seventh morning, the master stood waiting in the courtyard—silent, motionless, his figure framed by the light mist of dawn. A second wooden blade lay beside him on the mat.
Without a word, he gestured for me to take it.
No bow. No instructions.
A duel.
He attacked without warning.
His movement was precise, elegant, and brutal. His strikes didn't hesitate, nor did they offer room for mistakes. But I matched him, each block and counter flowing from me like breath.
I did not overpower him. I understood him.
Every motion told a story. Every feint, a whisper. Every draw, a question I had already answered.
The duel ended with our blades locked at center. I was calm. So was he. And then, with the faintest smile, he stepped back and lowered his weapon.
"That will do," he said quietly.
The Words I Waited For
In the dojo's inner chamber, he handed me a scroll. Not ornate. Not ceremonial. Just plain paper with black ink, signed with his name and seal.
"You've completed the form," he said. "Seven days. Others take years to grasp what you did in moments."
I took the scroll without a word, my fingers brushing the edge reverently.
He studied me.
"I've taught for fifty years. I've seen hundreds of bodies. Thousands of feet trying to find balance, hands trying to find edge. But you—"
He paused.
"You move like the sword has always been with you. As if you remembered it, not learned it."
I inclined my head. "Thank you for teaching me."
"I didn't teach you. I witnessed you remembering. That's rarer than talent."
The Farewell
We stood in silence at the edge of the courtyard. Mist clung to the trees. A wind passed between us, carrying no words.
"You won't need another master for kenjutsu," he said. "But still—go and bow to others. Learn their paths. Not because you must, but because it humbles the soul."
I bowed deeply—lower than custom required.
When I straightened, his face was unreadable.
"One last thing," he said. "Don't chase perfection. Chase sincerity. It will always draw the blade straighter."
Return to the World
That evening, I stood at the edge of the temple grounds. My duffel was slung over my shoulder. The scroll was tucked inside. I reached into my pocket, pulling out my device.
—Ren: I've finished. I'm coming home.
Three dots appeared.
—Airi: Already? That was only a week! Are you okay?
—Ren: I'm okay.
—Astraea: Did you find what you were looking for?
I stared at her message.
—Ren: Not yet. But I found silence.
—Elira: I kept your room exactly as it was. I missed you.
I smiled faintly.
I turned away from the road.
And summoned the fold in space—one that answered only to me.
With a ripple of thought, the path to my empire opened before me like a shimmering veil.
Time to go home.
But only for a moment.
Because the path of every blade still waited.