Sailor sat on the edge of a broken fence, staring into the void where streets had once stretched. His white eyes seemed too bright against the dark strands of hair framing his pale face. He tried to remember the last time he had felt anything other than emptiness and self-loathing. But his memory, like everything else in this world, was charred and broken.
"You're zoning out again, aren't you?" a familiar, hoarse voice sounded.
Sai turned around. Before him stood an old man with a wrinkled face, a head of gray hair, and eyes that reflected a strange energy—a mix of joy and danger. Grandpa. A man he barely knew, but who, he suddenly reminded himself, had taken him from the orphanage just a few minutes ago.
"Are you... laughing at me?" Sai muttered quietly. He always got nervous when someone laughed, especially when it was someone he'd barely seen.
"Laughing?" The old man clapped him on the shoulder with unexpected force. "No, Sai, I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because you still think life is a punishment."
Sai didn't answer. It was hard to breathe; the world felt both too vast and too empty.
"See this house?" The old man waved his hand. "This is where you'll live. Yes, I know it looks like a madman's house. But who said we have to be normal?"
Sai looked at the structure, which resembled a mix between an ancient castle and an alchemist's laboratory. The wooden beams creaked in the wind, and the small windows reflected the sun's rays, as if hinting, "Yes, it's strange here... but you can handle it."
"You... really are crazy," Sai forced out.
"Perhaps," Grandpa laughed, and his laughter was both loud and soft. "But madness is just a form of truth. Now, if you want to live, and not die like a coward, you'll have to learn."
Sai gritted his teeth mentally. Learn? He didn't want to. He didn't care. But something in the old man's voice made him at least listen.
"First, you must understand that power doesn't come on its own." Grandpa abruptly grabbed Sai's arm and led him inside the house. "And philosophy... the philosophy of power is not for the weak."
Inside, it was strange and beautiful at the same time: books, old scrolls, and artifacts stood on the shelves; it smelled of dust and magic. Sai stopped at the door, his eyes scanning the room.
"Why did you even take me in?" he finally asked.
"Because you have something others don't. Potential. The darkness inside you. But if you don't learn to control it, it will consume you, inside and out."
A chill ran down Sai's spine. He didn't know what Grandpa was talking about, but something in those words hooked him.
"You think I'm crazy?" Grandpa looked at him with a smile. "Think what you want. The important thing is that you understand: I'm not here to pity you. I'm here to make you into someone who can survive."
He led Sai to a small yard behind the house, where wooden structures and sandbags stood.
"This is where we'll train. Both philosophy and combat skills. First—control. Power must not control you. You must control the power."
Sai, cowardly stepping back, looked at the old man. "I... I can't..."
"You managed to get here, which means you can do this too," the old man replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Understand? Torture is not the path. Fear is not the enemy. You are your own enemy if you don't learn to overcome your weakness."
Sai tried to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. He looked at Grandpa and the yard, and something clicked inside him. Perhaps for the first time in a long time, he felt that there was a chance. A chance to survive.
"Good, let's begin," said the old man, not giving Sai a moment to recover. "First, breathing, then concentration, then... a bit later—combat skills."
They spent the first hours in the quiet yard. The old man watched Sai's every move closely, corrected his stance, pointed out mistakes in his breathing. Sai felt a mix of fear, irritation, and something new—a faint hope.
"Why are you so hard on me?" he finally asked.
"Because otherwise, you'll die. In this world, weakness is the path to ruin. And you're still too young to just give up."
Sai sat down on the ground, tired and irritated. He thought the old man was just crazy. But deep down, something was beginning to stir: a small spark that whispered to him, "Try."
Grandpa sat down beside him. "Listen, Sai. We're not breaking any records today. Today, you just learn what it means to live. To live, not just exist."
Sai looked at him, thoughts swirling in his head: How can you live in this world? How can you not go insane?
"I... I don't know if I can," he whispered.
"I know you can. Otherwise, I wouldn't have brought you here."
And in that moment, as the sun began to set, Sai felt for the first time that the day, which had started as an endless void, had suddenly become something... real? He sat down on the ground, feeling the wind touch his face, as if whispering something strange. What was it? Joy? Curiosity? Or just the feeling that he was still alive?
"You think it's just a feeling?" Grandpa smirked, watching him from a short distance. "Maybe. Or maybe it's the beginning of understanding who you really are."
Sai looked at him, bewildered. "Me? Who am I? I don't even know myself..." His voice trembled, almost lost in the evening air.
"And that's fine," said the old man, sitting down next to him. "You're not supposed to know everything at once. Life is a series of questions, and the answers come gradually. For now, your task is to understand just one thing: fear is not the enemy. Can you... learn to deal with it?"
Sai wanted to answer, but the words got stuck in his throat again. He felt something inside him resisting, like a dark mass he couldn't control. He remembered his nights in the orphanage, when it seemed the world wanted him to die. Maybe this fear was the same? Or was it something new? Something he could use?
"Today we start with breath control," the old man said suddenly, standing up. "Your power, your darkness—it must not control you. You must control it. Can you do that?"
Sai nodded, though deep down he doubted it. He was a coward; he had always been afraid. But something about this old man had sparked a tiny ember. Why? Maybe because Grandpa believed in him more than he believed in himself?
"Stand up," said the old man. "Stretch out your arms, feel the ground beneath your feet. Don't look at me. Look at yourself. Hear me? At yourself."
Sai took a step forward, his knees trembling. He lowered his hands and closed his eyes. Slowly but surely, he began to feel every breath, every movement, every nerve, every muscle. His heart was beating, but not from fear—from something new: concentration, a strange inner movement that seemed to whisper to him: maybe…
"Focus on your inner... darkness," the old man continued. "Don't try to suppress it. Let it be... but remember, you are in control. Understand?"
Sai nodded again. His white eyes widened, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if the darkness inside him was breathing. What was that? Power? Or just his imagination? His breathing deepened, his hands trembled a little less, and his heartbeat became a bit steadier.
"Good," said the old man, smiling. "And now, a question you must ask yourself every day: what are you most afraid of? And are you ready to stop being afraid?"
Sai opened his eyes. He wanted to say "no," because he had always been afraid, but he suddenly realized he couldn't. Something inside whispered: you can.
"And if I can't?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"Then you'll die?" The old man laughed. "No. Then you'll just try again. Life is about repeating attempts. Understand?"
Sai felt a strange mix of horror and surprise. He was still a coward, but for the first time in a long while, he had the feeling that fear could be... used somehow?
"We'll stop here for today," said the old man as the sun almost disappeared below the horizon. "But we start again tomorrow. And every day will be like this. Are you ready for that?"
Sai looked at the old man. What did it mean to be ready? He was a coward; he had always wanted to run away. But now... now he felt that maybe it could be different? That there might be a day when he wouldn't just survive, but would learn to live?
"Yes... I guess," he forced out.
"'I guess' is a start," said the old man, clapping him on the shoulder. "And tomorrow, 'I guess' will turn into 'I can.'"
Sai sat on the cold ground, watching the last remnants of the sunset. The world around him seemed quiet but full of life. Maybe he really is crazy, Sai thought about Grandpa, but maybe madness is exactly what he needs to survive?
"Maybe... I can?" he muttered to himself.
And in that moment, as the first stars began to appear in the evening sky, Sai felt something resembling hope for the first time. A desire to try?
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring—what dangers and monsters, what demons and gods—but for the first time in a long time, he felt that the day, which had started as an endless void, had suddenly become something... real?
And on this real day, when the world seemed both vast and empty, Sai understood for the first time: perhaps power doesn't come on its own. Perhaps it's born where there is fear, and where someone is willing to say, "I will try? "