Morro shifted portions of Negacion to his legs and core, and began to run. Movement Negacion allowed him to move like a vehicle across the terrain, covering ground with impossible speed. The world blurred around him, trees and hills becoming streaks of color as he pushed his body to its limits.
Windfall Kensei Headquarters was twenty kilometers away, though the terrain was unfriendly for mounted travel—frequent ravines and rivers made fast passage difficult. Even with Movement Negacion, the journey required focus and precision, every leap and landing calculated to maintain momentum while avoiding obstacles.
Even though he was already halfway there, Morro still found himself thinking about the time he'd spent in the village. His nervous system, even in peaceful surroundings, remained on high alert. It was an instinct he had never been able to shake, a legacy of Blackwater that followed him like a shadow. Every rustle of leaves, every distant sound, triggered memories that refused to fade completely.
Windfall wasn't the best place to live. There was no rich infrastructure here, trade was underdeveloped, and some days brought an unnaturally cold wind that cut through even the thickest clothing. But it was home to Kensei's presence in this territory, and that made it significant. This was where he had found purpose after escaping the nightmare of his past.
The sky over Windfall was famous for its purple tint, visible even in daylight. As Morro raced across the landscape, he could see the violet deepening around him, creating a surreal atmosphere that was both beautiful and unsettling. The light filtered through atmospheric particles, casting everything in shades of lavender and indigo, as if the world itself had been painted by an artist with a limited but striking palette.
In the distance, he spotted several villages scattered across the rolling hills. Each one reminded him of Kukyo, of the people he had left behind, of the life he had almost grown comfortable with. Almost.
After several more minutes of travel, he finally saw the horizon where the Kensei headquarters was located. The fortress rose from the landscape like a promise of order in a chaotic world.
Morro stopped at the entrance to the compound. Several swordsmen from the Military Police stood guard at the gate, their postures rigid and professional. They recognized him immediately.
"We were expecting you, Morro," one of them said, his voice respectful. "Captain Aris is waiting. You may enter."
Morro stepped through the gates. As he passed through the entrance, he felt the familiar hum of the Negacion barrier—an invisible physical barrier that prevented unauthorized individuals from entering the area. The headquarters terrain had several main sections: the main building with its gleaming glass towers, training grounds where dozens of swordsmen practiced their forms, storage area, residential quarters, and academy—all surrounded by fortified walls that had withstood countless attacks over the years. The area was large for the 250 swordsmen assigned to Windfall Kensei, but it felt like home.
He could see dozens of swordsmen training on the grounds, many around his age, their movements precise and disciplined as they practiced their forms. Some were working with basic Negacion techniques, others sparring with wooden swords, a few practicing advanced movement patterns that reminded Morro of his own training days.
But Morro didn't head toward the main building. Instead, he made his way to one of the residential quarters, where he had already arranged a meeting with Captain Aris, commander of the Kensei swordsmen in Windfall.
The building had a terrace-like structure, reminiscent of an Edo Japanese temple. Traditional architecture met modern functionality, with polished wooden floors and a gracefully curved roof that provided shade from the violet sky above. Captain Aris was already sitting there, waiting for him.
The captain had short, closely cropped dark hair and a full but neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His heavy eyelids gave him a tired, contemplative expression, though Morro knew better than to mistake that for weakness. A strong jawline and thick eyebrows completed his authoritative appearance. He wore traditional Japanese clothing—a dark robe that added to his disciplined, reserved vibe.
"So you are finally here, Morro," Captain Aris said, his voice calm and measured, carrying the weight of years of command and wisdom.
"Welcome, Captain Aris," Morro replied, bowing slightly. "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."
Aris gestured for Morro to join him on the wooden terrace floor. They sat in a style reminiscent of traditional seating, with the elegant Edo Japanese roof overhead providing shade from the violet sky. The view from the terrace overlooked the training grounds, where young swordsmen practiced with determination and focus.
"Nico already told me what you both planned to do," Aris said, his eyes half-closed as if in deep thought. "I must say, I'm not surprised."
Morro settled into a comfortable position, cross-legged on the wooden floor. "You're not?"
"When you first came here," Aris continued, his voice softening with memory, "you were just a small child, broken and haunted by things no one should ever have to experience. I watched you train, watched you fight, watched you grow. Now look at you—a warrior who has found his own path, who stands ready to face the world on his own terms."
"It's true," Morro said, his voice steady despite the emotions that threatened to surface. "We intend to retire from Kensei to create our own group to fight for justice."
Captain Aris opened his eyes slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Retire from Kensei... that's a serious step, Morro. You know what kind of swordsmen exist in this world. Do you really think you can manage without the support of an organization like ours?"
"Captain Aris," Morro said, remembering the lessons from his training days, "as you taught us in class, if someone already knows what they will do and is determined, it is as if they have already done it. The battle is won or lost in the mind before it ever begins."
A slow smile spread across Captain Aris's face. He was very friendly and easy to talk to, never judging people for their choices. That was why Morro respected him so much—he was more than a commander; he was a mentor, a father figure who had guided him through the darkest years of his training, who had seen him at his worst and believed in him anyway.
"You always were a good student," Aris said, his voice filled with paternal pride. "But this path you're choosing... it's not just about fighting Yamatsu, is it? It's about something deeper."
Morro looked out at the training grounds, at the young swordsmen practicing their forms. "It's about making sure no one else has to go through what I went through. It's about creating a world where strength is used to protect, not to destroy."
"Remember where you came from," Aris said, his voice softening with paternal warmth. "Fight for what you believe is right. All strong people are kind, Morro. Never forget that. True power isn't about how much destruction you can cause—it's about how much you can protect, how many lives you can save."
He paused, looking out over the training grounds where young swordsmen practiced their forms. "The path you have chosen is difficult, but it is yours. Go on, experience the wonders of life, and may you find what you are searching for. But know this—you will always have a place here, if you ever need it."
Morro bowed his head respectfully, moved by the captain's words. "Thank you, Captain. For everything."
With that, Morro entered the room behind the terrace and changed his clothes. He donned black leather clothing with a high collar that allowed for full range of movement, a farming cape with white tassels that streamed in the wind. The outfit was practical for travel but also carried a sense of purpose, of identity.
When he returned to the terrace, Captain Aris stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Be careful out there. The world is not always kind to those who try to change it."
"I will be," Morro promised.
They said their goodbyes, and Morro headed toward the northern road, where Nicolas Nazara was waiting for him. The violet sky stretched above him, beautiful and indifferent, holding no answers but offering endless possibilities.