Chapter 9: The Way of Growth
Morning light spilled across the training yard as Ashen, Lina, and Raizen practiced their daily routine. The air rang with the sound of wooden swords striking — soft at first, then steady like the beat of a heart.
Ashen guided them calmly, adjusting their footing and breathing.
"Balance your stance," he said, tapping Raizen's shoulder lightly. "Don't just swing your sword—feel the air before you move."
Raizen nodded, but frustration flickered in his eyes.
"No matter what I do, I can't catch up to Lina…"
Ashen sighed softly. "Strength isn't something you chase—it's something you build. Getting stronger takes time. When your time comes, you'll be strong in your own way."
Raizen clenched his fists. "But I want to be strong now!"
Ashen looked at him, calm but firm.
"Even if you become strong instantly, what's the point if you don't understand it? Power without control is just noise. You need to understand your Qi, your limits, your heart. That's how real strength begins."
The boy fell silent, his gaze lowering in quiet thought.
Later that day, Ashen demonstrated a set of sword movements — smooth, flowing, precise. Lina and Raizen followed, though their forms wavered. He corrected them patiently, step by step.
> "A sword isn't about cutting your enemy," Ashen said, his eyes distant. "It's about cutting your weakness."
They both paused, confused, but the calm in his voice silenced their questions.
---
When training ended, Mei and Jiro arrived with food. They watched Ashen help Raizen stretch his arm, talking like an old teacher rather than a sixteen-year-old boy.
Sometimes, Lina would whisper to her parents, "Brother Ashen talks like he's lived for decades."
And the Hans would only smile — grateful, but quietly curious.
---
That night, under the lantern's glow, Ashen sat outside, the sword resting across his lap. Its polished blade shone faintly, reflecting the quiet moon above.
He ran his thumb along the edge and paused, remembering the day he returned to the blacksmith.
The shop was the same — the sound of metal, the smell of fire — but when the old man handed him the sword, it wasn't the same weapon anymore.
The blade had changed. The scabbard was now black with pale silver streaks that looked like frozen waves. The guard was newly forged, shaped with careful detail. It felt alive — as if the metal had been reborn.
"This sword has a strong will," the blacksmith had said, wiping his hands. "Keep using it well. Maybe one day, it'll awaken its spirit."
Ashen didn't reply then, but now, sitting alone, he looked at the sword quietly.
The blade gave off a faint glow under the lantern light — not cold or bright, just calm.
He smiled a little.
> "Reborn, huh…" he whispered. "Guess we're the same."
The wind brushed past, and the faint sound of crickets filled the air.
Ashen lifted the sword slowly, letting its edge catch the moonlight. It felt different this time — lighter, as if it truly recognized him.
> "From now on…" he said softly, "you'll be called Reikon."
The name rolled from his lips naturally — simple, calm, yet full of meaning.
The sword shimmered faintly, a thin line of light running along its edge like a quiet answer.
Ashen smiled again.
"Let's walk together from here."
He slid the sword back into its scabbard and leaned it beside him.
The night air was cool, and for the first time in a while, he felt at peace.
Reikon — his reborn sword — now carried a new will, just like him.