Fiona stirred slowly, as though emerging from the depths of a dream-filled ocean. Her body felt renewed, yet the faint thrum of past battles lingered in her muscles, a reminder of the challenges she had faced. When her eyes fluttered open, the soothing sounds of the forest greeted her, as if the world itself was in no rush—waiting patiently for her to rise.
Her gaze drifted toward the river, where Sky stood ankle-deep in the cool waters, his movements precise and fluid. He wielded a boken—a simple wooden sword—with the same grace and intensity one might expect from a master holding a katana. Each movement cut through the air, willful and controlled, yet there was no arrogance in his stance, only focus. Beside him, Sensei Kishikawa moved with silent authority, correcting Sky's form with quick, sharp taps from a stick. Every misstep earned a stinging reminder, but Sky never faltered. Even in his mistakes, he moved with a kind of quiet elegance that drew Fiona in.
Yet, as she watched, a question nagged at her: Why the boken? To her, raised on stories of warriors and legends, the katana was the true mark of a fighter. A wooden sword seemed—less.
Sensei Kishikawa turned, catching sight of her wakefulness, and approached with a calm, deliberate stride. "You're awake," he said, his voice as serene as the forest around them. "Are you ready to begin?"
Fiona nodded, though her thoughts lingered elsewhere—on anima, the wings of victory. She yearned to understand its power, to feel it coursing through her veins. But Sensei Kishikawa seemed to sense her impatience, the way her mind wandered.
Without another word, he plucked a delicate feather from his sleeve and placed it on her upper lip. "Breathe," he instructed. "Breathe without letting the feather fly away."
Fiona tried, but her breaths were too forceful, each exhale sending the feather fluttering from her lip. Frustration crept into her chest. The task seemed simple, yet she couldn't control her breath. She stole a glance at Sky, who continued to practice with unwavering calm, his focus never faltering.
"Your mind is elsewhere," Sensei Kishikawa said, his voice cutting through her distraction like the edge of a blade. "Before you seek anything grand—power, victory, or even the blade itself—you must first learn to master the basics. Breath, movement, control over your body. These are the foundations of a warrior. Without them, even the sharpest sword is nothing more than a piece of steel."
He placed the feather back on her lip, but again, Fiona's thoughts were scattered. She exhaled too hard, and the feather drifted away. Sensei Kishikawa watched her with a critical eye, and after a long pause, he spoke, his tone carrying the weight of his years.
"I see the sickness of the modern warrior in you," he said, though not unkindly. "The desire for power blinds you, makes you restless. You want anima, the wings of victory, but you misunderstand its nature. Anima is not something to be wanted. It must be earned—through discipline, humility, and control over your own mind. Without that, even the greatest power will destroy you."
He gestured toward Sky, who continued his practice by the river, each movement as fluid as the water at his feet. "Sky," Sensei Kishikawa called. "Explain to her the katana you are forging. Both here, and in the real world."
Sky paused mid-strike and turned toward them, his expression calm, unhurried. Supporting the sensei he started saying "The boken is a tool," he began, his voice steady. "It reminds me that mastery is born of humility. The sword itself—whether wood or steel—is not the source of power. It is the spirit of the one who wields it. The katana I'm making for you isn't just a weapon. It's being forged from materials drawn from the sun itself—chromium, nickel, cobalt. Humanity doesn't yet possess the technology to harness those elements fully, but they've made strides. But even with all that, the blade will mean nothing if the one who holds it does not understand its purpose."
He spoke simply, without pride or boastfulness, as though discussing the weather. But the weight of his words hung in the air, sinking into Fiona's chest. She realized then that power wasn't something she could ask for. It was something she had to grow into, something she wasn't ready to wield—not yet.
Sensei Kishikawa watched her closely, a small glimmer of approval in his eyes. "Your journey begins with the simplest of things—your breath, your stance, your patience. When you are ready, you will understand anima. But today, you will learn to walk."
He gestured for her to rise, and Fiona stood, feeling the earth beneath her feet as if for the first time. The feather, the boken, the river—they all felt like pieces of a larger puzzle, one she was only just beginning to understand. She had a long way to go, but something inside her stirred, a small spark ignited by the promise of what lay ahead.
As Sky's words hung in the air, describing a katana forged from materials drawn from the heart of the sun itself, Fiona felt a spark of curiosity tug at her mind. Chromium, nickel, cobalt—those were metals she knew well enough. Earth had plenty of them, so why reach for the sun?
Sky must have sensed her thoughts, because he smiled, a glimmer of amusement and understanding in his eyes. He paused in his movements, resting the boken lightly against his shoulder. "I can see you're wondering why I'd go through so much trouble to extract materials from the sun, right?"
Fiona nodded, her brow furrowed. "We have chromium, nickel, and cobalt here on Earth. Why go to the sun?"
"The sun," Sky began, turning his gaze toward the sky as if seeking the very star itself, "is a cosmic forge, where elements are born in their purest form. On Earth, metals are shaped by time, pressure, and the imperfections of our world. But in the sun, they exist at their most elemental, untarnished by earthly impurities."
Fiona listened closely, her mind reaching for understanding. Sky continued, his voice steady but filled with the weight of something greater. "By sourcing materials from the sun, we're not just taking metal—we're harnessing the essence of the stars themselves. It's like using ingredients straight from the source of creation. Just as we are made of star stuff, so too should your blade carry that cosmic legacy."
He stepped forward, his expression thoughtful, and then added, "There's more to it than purity, though. The sun-forged materials I use are infused with a strength and energy that Earth-bound metals can't match. This gives your katana a quality that's not only physical but... almost mystical. The blade will reflect moonlight, capturing and bending it in ways that ordinary steel never could."
As he spoke, Fiona's imagination began to take flight. She could see it—the moonlight catching the edge of the blade, a subtle, silvery glow dancing along its surface. The idea resonated deeply with her, not just for the power it promised, but for the meaning behind it.
Sky's voice softened, his gaze meeting hers. "This isn't just a weapon, Fiona. It's a symbol—a connection between you and the universe. Forged from the stars that gave us life. Streagrian technology may allow us to shape it, and human science helps us understand it, but in the end, it's the cosmic heritage of the blade that will reflect your own journey. To wield such a katana means to recognize your place in the universe... and your responsibility to it."
Fiona felt her heart swell with something more than awe. He wasn't just forging a tool for battle—he was creating something that tied her to the stars, to the very forces that shaped existence itself. The thought both humbled and emboldened her. It wasn't just about learning to fight. It was about becoming one with the essence of the cosmos, piece by piece, until she could wield anima as naturally as she could breathe.
Time flowed like the gentle currents of the river beside which Fiona sat, days blending seamlessly into one another. She remained focused on the simple, almost meditative task of breathing with the feather. It rested lightly on her upper lip, the smallest disruption of air sending it fluttering away—a constant reminder of the fragility of control.
Around her, the world continued to move, its rhythms undisturbed by her struggles. Sometimes Sky would train nearby, his wooden sword slicing through the air with a precision that made the water ripple at his feet. Other times, Sensei Kishikawa would approach with his keen, observant eyes, or Sensei Leonardo would pass, offering only a silent nod of encouragement. But Fiona remained still, alone with her memories and thoughts.
At first, every breath felt like a struggle, a monumental task. Modern life had conditioned people to expect easy victories, but here, in the heart of the virtual forest, Fiona was learning the raw reality of true growth. The feather was more than just a tool; it was a reflection of her discipline, patience, and self-awareness. As she sat in the forest, the gentle murmur of the river, the rustling of leaves, and the distant calls of birds created a symphony that became the backdrop to her practice, a tune to which she tried to align herself.
And through it all, memories of Camilla filled her mind, both the sweet and the bitter.
She remembered the first time Camilla had tried to walk, her tiny hands gripping Fiona's fingers, her legs wobbling beneath her as she took her first, hesitant steps. Fiona had been so proud, her heart swelling with love and joy as she watched her daughter stumble, then rise, determined to try again. Those moments had been pure, untarnished by the weight of the world.
But as Camilla grew, so did the distance between them. Fiona could still hear her daughter's voice, sharp with teenage anger, spitting words of resentment. "You care more about your games than you ever cared about me!" The sting of those words had cut deeper than any blade, leaving a scar on her soul.
Now, sitting in the stillness of the forest, Fiona's breath hitched slightly as the weight of those memories pressed on her. She had left Camilla behind—not just physically, but in so many ways. That guilt gnawed at her, but it was also what fueled her persistence. She wasn't just learning to breathe for herself. She was learning for Camilla, for the day when she could return, not as the broken woman her daughter despised, but as someone stronger, more whole.
The feather danced on her breath, the symbol of her struggle, her failure, her hope. With each exhale, she tried to control it, to keep it afloat, but it would flutter away, just as Camilla had.
But Fiona kept going.
With every attempt, the memories of Camilla's laughter, her angry words, her small victories, and the times Fiona had failed her—all of it intertwined in Fiona's mind, fueling her determination. The good and the bad. The love and the regret. She wasn't just trying to master breath control. She was trying to master herself, to become someone worthy of the daughter she had left behind.
Days passed, and the forest became a silent companion, its rhythm aligning with Fiona's breath. The river's gentle rush, the rustle of the leaves—they all seemed to flow in harmony with her practice. And slowly, imperceptibly at first, she began to improve. Each breath came more naturally, each exhale more controlled. The feather danced less, its fluttering more delicate, more predictable.
Sensei Kishikawa and Sensei Leonardo understood that her journey was not about quick victories but about the slow, deliberate mastery of the self. And in the stillness of the forest, Fiona found a deeper connection—not only to the world around her but to the core of her being.
She wasn't just learning to breathe. She was learning to let go of the past while drawing strength from it. Each breath was a step closer to understanding the balance and control she sought—not just for herself, but for the future she hoped to build with Camilla, no matter how distant that future seemed.
In the quiet of the forest, time was marked not by grand triumphs but by small, incremental steps of progress. And with each passing day, Fiona edged closer to the balance she needed—to the strength that would allow her to face both the battles ahead and the life she had left behind, for now.
Sensei Leonardo approached with purposeful strides, his presence commanding yet filled with the patience of a teacher. "It's time to practice kihon," he said, his voice steady. Fiona, sensing the shift, reached to remove the feather from her upper lip. But Sensei's voice sliced through her anticipation like a blade through still water.
"Who told you to remove the feather?" His tone was stern, cutting through the quiet of the forest. "Put it back."
Fiona froze for a moment, then carefully replaced the feather. A knot of tension formed in her stomach as she realized the weight of the challenge before her. Practicing kihon with the feather still in place seemed impossible. Every punch, every block, sent the delicate feather fluttering away—not just from her breath, but from the sheer force of her movements. Each strike caused her breath to hitch, disrupting the fragile balance.
The task wasn't just difficult—it was maddening.
Her muscles strained as she tried to steady her stance, her breath growing uneven with each passing minute. The sharp ache in her limbs began to weigh on her mind, the frustration building with every failed attempt. She pressed her upper lip tightly against the feather, as if forcing it into submission would grant her control. But the harder she tried, the more the feather danced away, slipping from its perch as if mocking her efforts.
Hours passed, and Fiona's persistence became a battleground of its own. Sweat dripped from her brow, her movements growing sloppy as fatigue set in. Desperation crept into her technique—she even resorted to holding the feather in place with her nose and upper lip, but this compromise weakened her strikes, draining the power from her form. Her punches lost their sharpness, her kicks lacked precision. The harder she fought for control, the more distant it seemed.
Frustration clawed at her chest, and she felt the creeping doubt—was this task even possible? What was the point of this relentless trial?
Suddenly, Sky's calm voice cut through her spiral of frustration, as steady as the forest around them. "Fiona," he said softly, approaching her with a feather of his own in hand. "Let it flow. Don't force it."
He placed the feather on his upper lip and assumed his stance. There was no tension in his movements, no strain. His breathing was smooth, rhythmic. As he began to perform the kihon, his strikes were powerful, sharp, and precise—yet the feather remained perfectly still, floating effortlessly on the soft current of his breath.
It was mesmerizing.
Fiona watched in silence as Sky moved through the sequence, his movements fluid yet intentional. His punches cut through the air with purpose, but there was no aggression, no urgency. Each motion flowed into the next, his breath guiding him like an invisible thread connecting mind and body. The feather, resting on his lip, seemed to defy gravity, anchored by the mastery of his breath.
"It's not about controlling the feather," Sky said, his voice quiet but firm. "It's about controlling yourself."
He picked up his boken, the wooden sword resting lightly in his hands as if it were an extension of his body. "The same applies with the sword. Just let go—of yourself, of your failures, your victories, your past, your present." He took a step forward, his stance strong, yet his breath remained calm, steady. "Let go of everything. Just be."
With one fluid motion, Sky swung the boken. The sound of the slash echoed through the forest, sharp and clean. The force of the swing rippled through the air, parting the river before him as if an invisible hand had cut through the water itself. For a brief moment, the water stood divided, suspended in time, before crashing back together in a symphony of sound. There was no malice in his strike, no anger or aggression—only mastery. Not of the weapon, but of the self.
Fiona's breath caught in her throat. The power in Sky's movements wasn't born of brute strength but of pure balance, of complete harmony between mind, body, and breath. He had mastered not just the sword, but his own spirit.
Her heart raced, not with exhaustion but with a new understanding. This wasn't just about the physical act of punching or kicking. It wasn't about holding the feather in place through sheer will. It was about finding peace in the chaos, about allowing the body and breath to move as one, without force, without resistance.
She looked down at the feather on her own lip, feeling its fragile weight. The frustration still lingered, but it was tempered now by a deeper realization. This was not just a test of her physical abilities but of her ability to surrender—to let go of the need to control every moment, every outcome.
With a newfound clarity, Fiona assumed her stance once more. Her movements were not perfect; her strikes still faltered, and the feather still fluttered. But there was a shift in her approach, a softness to her efforts. She focused on her breath, not on the feather. On her own inner rhythm, not on the external task.
Sky watched her with a quiet smile, his own feather resting untouched on his upper lip. He didn't need to say anything. She was beginning to understand.
The tranquility of the moment was suddenly interrupted by a series of notifications flashing in the corner of Fiona's HUD. Her heart skipped a beat as familiar names appeared: Firelez, Woomilla, Pinchitavo. They were waiting for her.
"We can't continue without our baiting tank in front. Care to join us? Please say yes."
A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and a tiny tear glistened on her cheek before she quickly wiped it away. It had been so long—so long since anyone had invited her into a game like this, as a valued teammate, a warrior in their midst. The last time someone had made her feel like this was with her late boyfriend, a lifetime ago.
She glanced at Sky, her emotions swirling in her chest. He met her gaze shyly, and the unspoken understanding passed between them. He knew what this meant to her, the silent ache she had carried for so long.
"Go," he said, his voice gentle yet encouraging. "I'll tell the senseis to invite you again, and I'll join you later."
Fiona hesitated, a question lingering on her lips, her curiosity tinged with awe. "Are you going to duel your own shadow?"
Sky's smile was quiet, but the weight of his answer held something far greater than a simple yes or no. His eyes reflected the galaxies he had seen, the cosmic forces he had battled. "What do you think I'm training for?" he replied, his voice steady, filled with the gravity of a cosmic warrior.
A shiver ran down Fiona's spine as she realized the magnitude of what he was preparing for. This wasn't just any duel. Sky's shadow was more than a reflection of himself—it was a mirror of his cosmic power, an echo of all the celestial forces he had ever wielded. And the battleground? The Necrohova of Kas Gur—a place that existed in the void between stars, where reality bent, and time itself flowed like a river on the verge of breaking its banks.
There, two warriors would clash—not just Sky and his shadow, but two cosmic forces locked in a battle that transcended time and space. Fiona knew that such duels could shape the fate of entire worlds, the shockwaves from their strikes rippling across galaxies like the alignment of planets.
This was no ordinary training session. This was a confrontation that could ripple through the fabric of existence itself. Her heart raced at the thought of witnessing such a battle, a duel where the victor would not only prove their mastery but also affirm their right to search for the Stars of Destiny—the protectors of the universe. Sky was the Asteri Evris, the Seeker of Stars, and this duel would be his moment of cosmic reckoning.
The gravity of it all weighed on her, but she felt a surge of exhilaration, knowing she was part of something greater, something monumental.
Sky watched her with a calm, confident smile. He didn't need to say anything more. The stars had aligned, and this was his path—a path that, in some ways, mirrored her own. They were both seeking something far beyond themselves.
With a nod, Fiona accepted the invitation on her HUD, feeling the warmth of her friends' presence through the digital space. But as she prepared to rejoin them, her mind remained tethered to Sky. His duel loomed on the horizon, an event that promised to shake the heavens.
The clash of cosmic warriors awaited, and Fiona would be there to witness it. But for now, she had her own battles to fight—her return to Eschenfrau awaited, her friends depending on her.
Her journey was far from over, and as the digital world welcomed her back, the quiet anticipation of Sky's duel echoed in her heart.
A storm was coming, a cosmic storm—and when Sky faced his shadow, the universe would bear witness to a duel as powerful as the planets aligning themselves.
And she would be ready.