The Rhythm of the Storm
The arena still quaked from the last clash. Dust hung in the air, glittering under the dim light like scattered fragments of stars. The audience leaned forward, hushed into a silence so sharp it felt sacred.
Kaen's chest heaved violently, each breath cutting through his lungs like fire. His arms trembled beneath the weight of his cracked sword, the faint fracture running through the steel mocking him with every glint of light. His body was battered—blood traced down his cheek, his shoulder stung with each movement, and his legs threatened to collapse beneath him.
And yet… his eyes burned.
(…I can't fight her speed with my body. I'll never match it. But maybe… I don't have to.)
He tightened his grip on the hilt, grounding himself. For the first time since the match began, Kaen closed his eyes—not out of fear, but focus. He listened.
The scrape of her boots against the cracked stone floor.
The faint whistle of her blade cutting the air before it struck.
The rhythm hidden in her movements—the storm disguised as chaos.
When his eyes opened again, they gleamed with new clarity.
Across the arena, his opponent stood with that same calm composure, her sword angled low, eyes unshaken. She exuded the aura of inevitability, as if nothing could disrupt her storm.
The referee hadn't needed to shout—both fighters already knew the battle had resumed.
She moved.
In an instant, she was gone, vanishing into blinding speed. The crowd gasped. Kaen's pupils widened—but this time, his sword was already moving.
CLANG!
The sound rang out like thunder. Sparks burst violently as their blades collided, painting the arena in orange light. The audience erupted in shock—Kaen had blocked cleanly, without staggering.
She pulled back, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. No hesitation—her sword swept in again, faster, sharper, a silver arc flashing toward his ribs.
But Kaen had seen it.
CLASH!
The blades met again. Sparks exploded in a dazzling shower, briefly freezing their forms in a halo of fire. The storm was the same, but Kaen no longer chased blindly. He was reading it.
Each strike now came with a thread of clarity—an echo he could anticipate a split second before it arrived. His opponent's rhythm, once overwhelming, began to slow in his eyes.
The audience murmured in disbelief:
"He's… he's keeping up?"
"No way… he was collapsing just moments ago!"
"Look at his sword—he's reading her speed!"
Kaen's teeth clenched, his voice rasping through heavy breaths:
"I can see it now… the flow of your strikes."
His opponent's eyes widened faintly. Her calm mask remained, but the slightest flicker of surprise rippled through her gaze.
Then Kaen moved—not backward, not defensively, but forward.
With a sharp twist of his wrist, he redirected her strike, sparks scattering as he slipped past her guard. His blade surged forward, not with grace, but with raw will.
SHHHKT!
The sound cut through the arena.
For the first time—Kaen's sword found its mark.
A shallow red line appeared across her arm, blood welling at the surface.
The entire stadium erupted. Cheers, gasps, and shouts mixed into a storm of voices that shook the very walls.
"He hit her!"
"Kaen landed the first strike!"
"Impossible… he actually cut her!"
Kaen's chest heaved, his cracked sword trembling in his hands. He didn't smile, didn't gloat—his focus was absolute, his gaze burning into hers.
His opponent froze for a brief moment, her calm mask unbroken. Slowly, her eyes shifted down to the thin wound across her arm. The blood was nothing compared to what she had endured before, but the meaning behind it…
Her composure faltered. Just slightly.
Kaen raised his blade again, voice hoarse but steady.
"This fight isn't decided yet."
The arena thundered with the roar of the crowd, the air alive with sparks, sweat, and the rhythm of steel. For the first time since the storm began, Kaen had found a way to stand within it—
And fight back.
---
Cracks in Her Mask
The shallow cut along her arm bled only a little. It wasn't deep, it wasn't crippling. By any measure of battle, it was nothing.
But to her—it was everything.
For the first time in the arena, her flawless rhythm had been interrupted. Her calm mask, sculpted from years of pain and control, cracked—just barely. Her grip tightened on the hilt, her breath coming in slightly sharper.
Kaen noticed. His eyes, though strained and bloodshot, caught the flicker. That tiny fracture in her composure.
(…She bleeds. She falters. She's not untouchable.)
The crowd was thunderous now, voices rising like a storm, but inside her head, the roar faded. The arena blurred, the dust and sparks dissolving into another world—one carved deep into her memory.
A memory that refused to die.
---
Flashback Begins
The golden glow of firelight filled the room, but it wasn't the fire of destruction. It was warmth. The hearth crackled, flames dancing gently, casting playful shadows along the wooden walls.
She was young—barely ten years old. Her hair was shorter, her face rounder, eyes sparkling with childish joy. In her hand was a wooden sword, clumsy and worn from constant use.
Her brother stood opposite her, wielding his own wooden blade, grinning with playful arrogance.
"You'll never beat me, sis! I'm the strongest warrior in the village!"
She laughed, charging forward with reckless swings. Their wooden swords clashed, sending hollow thuds echoing through the cozy home. Their laughter filled the air, louder than the crackle of the fire.
From the corner, their mother's voice rang out, gentle yet firm:
"Careful, you two! You'll break the table again!"
The children giggled, pausing mid-duel. Their mother, hands dusted with flour from cooking, smiled warmly at them, her presence softer than the glow of the fire itself.
Their father sat nearby, polishing a real sword. His voice carried a quiet strength as he watched them.
"Every warrior starts with play. But remember—swords are more than games. They're a promise. To protect."
The girl's eyes had shone with admiration then. She wanted to be like him. To be strong enough to guard the smiles in that very room.
That night, their family ate together. Bread fresh from the oven, stew bubbling in the pot. Laughter. Warmth. Peace.
It was perfect.
---
But perfection shatters the loudest.
It began with a roar. A sound so deep it shook the earth itself. Windows rattled, bowls fell from the table, the fire guttered with the trembling.
Her brother's wooden sword slipped from his hand. Her mother's smile vanished. Her father rose, sword in hand, eyes sharp with sudden fear.
Then came the crashing. The tearing. The monstrous shadows looming outside.
Dinosaurs—massive, scaled beasts with eyes glowing in the dark. Their roars split the night, shaking the village to its very core.
Screams erupted outside. Wood splintered. The ground shook as the creatures rampaged through homes, tearing roofs apart as if they were paper.
Her father shouted:
"Take them! Run!"
Her mother grabbed her and her brother's hands, dragging them toward the back door. But the wall exploded inwards before they could escape.
The beast's head crashed through the wooden frame, teeth gleaming in the firelight.
Everything happened at once.
Her father lunged, sword flashing, shouting for them to go. Her mother shoved them out through the back, even as the ground shook beneath their feet.
Her brother pulled at her hand, urging her forward, but the chaos swallowed them. A tail whipped through the air—her brother was ripped from her grasp, his scream echoing in the night as the beast dragged him into the firelit streets.
"Brother—!!"
She tried to chase, but her mother's arms held her back. The last she saw of her father was his silhouette, blade shining against monstrous jaws, before the flames consumed the house.
Her mother pushed her into the forest, voice trembling but fierce.
"Run! Don't look back!"
The girl stumbled forward, legs weak, heart breaking with every step. Behind her, the world burned. The only sounds were the roars of beasts and the final scream of her family.
She didn't look back.
---
Return to Present
The arena came rushing back. Sparks flew once more, the weight of her blade pressing into Kaen's. But behind her calm eyes, the fire of the past still raged.
She wasn't just fast. She wasn't just strong.
She was desperate.
Kaen saw it now—the glimmer behind her icy composure, the shadow of a girl who had lost everything.
And for the first time since their clash began, he felt it. Not just the pressure of her blade, but the burden she carried with every strike.
The crowd couldn't see it. But Kaen… Kaen understood.
(…She's like me.)
---
Survivor's Burden
The arena's roar faded again, but this time it wasn't Kaen's memory that intruded—it was hers.
Her mask of calm composure remained on the surface, but inside, the storm churned. Every clash of steel against Kaen's cracked blade sent vibrations not just through her arms, but through her very soul. Each spark brought back the fire that had once consumed her home.
---
Flashback
She remembered waking to silence.
Her body had collapsed in the forest, exhaustion dragging her down. When her eyes opened, the world was dim, the firelight of her burning village little more than smoke on the horizon.
She stumbled back, barefoot across dirt and ash, searching desperately for her family.
But when she returned… nothing remained.
The houses were rubble, charred and broken. The streets were stained red. The once-lively voices of her neighbors were gone, swallowed by silence.
She called for them—her brother, her mother, her father—her voice cracking until it was hoarse.
No one answered.
Her feet carried her to the ruins of her home. There, buried beneath splintered wood and fallen stone, she found it.
Her father's sword.
The steel was bent, cracked along the edge, but it was still there. She reached out with trembling hands, fingers brushing against the cold, bloodstained hilt.
Her knees buckled, collapsing into the dirt.
She screamed until her throat tore.
Days blurred after that.
The villagers found her, huddled in the ruins, clutching the broken blade as if it were the only thing keeping her alive. Her eyes were empty, her voice silent. She didn't eat, she didn't cry—she only held the sword.
Whispers began to spread.
"She was the only one to survive…"
"Why her? Why not the others?"
"Untouched… not a single scratch."
The words clung to her like chains.
"Untouched Warrior."
Not a title of honor. A curse.
---
Her Vow
At night, when sleep came, the memories returned—the fire, the roars, her brother's scream. She would jolt awake, drenched in sweat, hand gripping the broken sword until her knuckles went white.
Each time, she whispered the same words into the darkness:
"If I couldn't protect them… then I will never be powerless again. I will carry their will. I will become unbreakable."
The vow became her heartbeat. The sword—though cracked—became her soul.
From that day on, she trained. Relentlessly. She pushed her body past its limits, through pain and exhaustion. Each cut on her skin, each bruise, was punishment for surviving when the others did not.
Years turned the broken girl into a warrior. Her movements grew sharp, fast, untouchable. No monster, no enemy, no rival could lay a hand on her.
Because if they did… it would mean she had failed them again.
---
Return to the Arena
Her blade clashed with Kaen's once more. Sparks burst, steel screamed. Her body moved with flawless precision, each strike fueled not by the desire to win—but by the vow never to lose.
Her eyes, though calm, carried the weight of flames and screams.
Kaen felt it.
Every clash of her sword wasn't just a test of skill—it was her way of burying the ghosts that haunted her. Each strike screamed, "I will not fail again."
Kaen's arms trembled, his cracked sword groaning under the pressure. But for a moment, he forgot the pain in his muscles.
Instead, he saw her.
Not the opponent before him, but the girl in her memories. The child clutching a broken blade, crying in the ruins of her home.
And something inside Kaen stirred.
(…She's like me. She lost everything too. She carries it alone… just like I do.)
His mother's voice echoed faintly again in his mind: "A sword isn't just steel—it's the will you carry."
Looking into her eyes, Kaen realized—her will wasn't to defeat him.
It was to never be that powerless child again.
And in that instant, his struggle was no longer just about survival.
It was about reaching her.
---
The Storm Breaks
The arena trembled under the storm of steel.
Kaen's cracked blade shuddered with every clash, but his grip did not falter. Across from him, his opponent's strikes grew faster—sharper, more desperate—as if every swing was fueled by the ghosts of her past.
The air itself screamed.
Each collision of their blades erupted into sparks that lit the battlefield like lightning splitting the night sky. The clang of steel echoed like thunder, shaking the dust loose from the arena's walls.
The crowd leaned forward, breaths held, eyes wide.
"This speed… this intensity—how are they still standing?" one spectator whispered, voice trembling.
---
The Untouched Warrior Unleashed
Her movements blurred, a phantom weaving through the storm. Every step seemed too fast, every strike too precise. The sound of her sword cutting the air was like ripping silk—swift, merciless.
She no longer looked human.
Her blade left arcs of light with each slash, painting glowing streaks in the air that lingered for the briefest heartbeat before fading into dust.
The earth cracked beneath her steps, the shockwaves of her movements rippling outward. Dust whirled in a spiral around her, as if the storm itself bent to her will.
Kaen barely had time to react. He lifted his sword instinctively, sparks erupting as their blades collided—once, twice, ten times in a heartbeat.
She was overwhelming.
Every strike screamed the same words, "I will never fail again. I will never lose again."
---
Kaen Adapts
Kaen's lungs burned. Blood trickled down his arm where her strikes had cut shallow lines across his skin. His cracked sword cried out with every block, its steel threatening to shatter.
But Kaen's eyes… they were alive.
He wasn't chasing her speed anymore. He wasn't reacting blindly.
He was reading her.
Step by step, clash by clash, Kaen began to see it—the faint hesitation before she spun, the subtle shift in her stance before a downward slash, the rhythm hidden beneath her storm.
He muttered through clenched teeth:
"…I can see it. I can feel it."
Her blade shot toward his chest like lightning.
Kaen shifted his weight, raising his sword at just the right angle—steel screeched, sparks burst—and for the first time, her strike didn't push him back.
The crowd gasped.
"He blocked it—cleanly!"
---
Cinematic Clash
Their duel became a storm within the arena.
Sparks rained like falling stars.
Lightning arcs flashed with every collision of steel.
Dust exploded into the air, swirling around them as silhouettes locked in a deadly dance.
Each clash sent shockwaves rolling across the stone floor, cracks splintering outward. The crowd shielded their eyes as light and dust engulfed the stage.
And in the eye of that storm, only two figures remained—Kaen, bloodied but unyielding, and the Untouched Warrior, fast but burning with desperation.
---
Desperation vs. Will
Inside her eyes, he saw it again—that pain, that endless vow to never be powerless.
Inside his heart, he felt his own mother's words: "A sword isn't just steel—it's the will you carry."
Their wills clashed as much as their blades did.
Every strike from her was a scream against her past.
Every block from him was defiance against fate.
This was no longer a simple duel.
It was a collision of scars.
---
Cliffhanger of the Storm
They moved faster, faster—too fast for the eye to follow.
The arena became a canvas of light, every strike exploding into sparks that showered the battlefield like meteors.
Then—both warriors launched forward at the same time.
Her strike, fueled by desperation.
His strike, fueled by will.
Two arcs of light, crossing.
The moment their blades collided, a blinding explosion of sparks consumed the arena, the sound louder than thunder.
The crowd screamed as a wave of dust and light engulfed them all.
And within that storm—Kaen and the Untouched Warrior stood locked, their faces inches apart, their wills clashing in silence.
Neither yielding.
Neither breaking.
The storm was far from over.