"Dammit! I can't even land one hit—how frustrating!" Viora groaned, collapsing onto the garden's soft grass, her chest heaving with every breath. She had been sparring with Gwishin for twenty minutes straight, but the session felt more like a one-sided beatdown. Each attempt to strike ended with Gwishin effortlessly throwing her to the ground or landing a single, decisive blow that sent her flying.
Cyrus sat on the wooden steps of the garden, quietly observing the fight. His gaze followed Viora as she slowly pushed herself back up, battered but determined.
Viora is stronger than any normal human… as fast as an Olympic athlete. The thought lingered in his mind as he watched her wipe the dirt off her clothes. I always knew she was stronger than most girls her age. Even though someone might expect her to be easily overpowered because of her stature, she beat every athlete at our school without breaking a sweat. She even threw a football several kilometers once… People started asking questions after that.
His eyes narrowed slightly as memories surfaced.
I suspected she was like me—someone born unnaturally powerful, faster than ordinary people, and able to see spirits. But ever since the accident in the park… she's gotten even stronger. Faster too. Just like me, it seems…
Cyrus shifted his weight, resting his chin on his hand.
But strength isn't everything. She has no fighting experience. If she has to face spirits like the one we fought a few days ago… she'll need to learn. Fast.
Viora pulled off her yellow-and-blue hoodie, tying it around her waist. Her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath as she stood ready for another round.
Gwishin let out a sigh and spoke in her usual calm tone.
"Lady V—… I mean, Viora. You're too preoccupied with your thoughts when we spar. It's wise to plan your next move, but if you focus too much on the future of the fight, you'll miss the present entirely. You must learn to fight on instinct. That's my advice."
Viora's eyes widened as she wiped the sweat from her face. Her voice, filled with curiosity, cut through the silence.
"But how am I supposed to fight without overthinking? If I don't plan while fighting, won't I get hit by surprise attacks? Please… enlighten me, master!"
Gwishin's eyes widened at the title, and a faint blush spread across her cheeks. She cleared her throat, clearly flustered, before replying in a slightly embarrassed tone.
"You must follow a state of no mind. It's a concept rooted in Buddhism… something all advanced martial artists reach, whether they realize it or not. It's called Mushin."
"Mushin?" Viora tilted her head, intrigued.
"Yes," Gwishin continued. "It means a mind that is not preoccupied with thoughts. It allows a martial artist to respond to attacks instinctively and freely. It's a state of mind where you act without hesitation—without overthinking your opponent's strength or next move."
She took a step closer, locking eyes with Viora.
"In a fight where a single second can mean life or death, you don't have time to overthink. Mushin permits you to react with intuition and experience. That's how you avoid surprise attacks. That's how you survive."
Then, Gwishin extended her arm, pointing straight at Cyrus. Her voice was firm and loud.
"Master Cyrus has already mastered the state of no mind. He can dodge attacks without thinking and respond to threats without wasting a single second. If you want to survive the battles ahead, you must do the same, Viora."
Viora's lips curled into a smirk as she took a step forward. Determination burned in her eyes.
"So… basically, I need to stop overthinking when I fight." Her gaze locked onto Gwishin. "But I don't have any real experience in combat. So all I have to do is fight you. Over and over again. Hundreds of times… until I can respond to your attacks on instinct!"
Gwishin's serious expression softened into a gentle smile. She mirrored Viora's step forward, closing the distance between them.
"Exactly. That's the only way to master Mushin. You must fight repeatedly until your mind gains enough experience to recognize patterns from past battles. Only then will you be able to act without hesitation—to achieve the state of no mind."
The air grew tense. Without another word, both of them dashed toward each other at incredible speed.
Viora was fast. But Gwishin was faster.
Gwishin threw a swift punch aimed directly at Viora's face. Viora managed to block it, but Gwishin's strength was overwhelming.
"Your guard is weak," Gwishin said in a formal tone. "It won't protect you against those who truly intend to take your life."
With a sudden surge of force, Gwishin overpowered Viora's block, her punch sending Viora rolling across the garden floor. Dirt and leaves scattered in the air as Viora struggled to her feet.
But as soon as she stood, Gwishin was already closing in.
Incredible speed… Viora thought, eyes wide, before quickly throwing a punch. Gwishin dodged it with ease, her movements graceful and controlled.
Then, Gwishin countered with another punch aimed directly at Viora's face.
This time, Viora took the hit.
She stumbled back but didn't fall. The blow stung, but it wasn't devastating. Gwishin was clearly holding back. Even so, the lesson was clear.
Viora wiped the blood from her lip, thoughts racing.
Responding without thinking…
If I don't think about where my punch lands… or when to dodge… I'll just keep getting hit.
Her fists clenched tighter.
Maybe… after a hundred losses… I'll awaken.
***
The sun was falling, painting the sky in shades of amber and crimson. Shadows stretched across the garden, but Cyrus remained seated on the wooden steps, unmoving. His piercing gaze stayed locked on the scene before him.
Viora's body trembled as she stood, bruised and bloodied, her hoodie stained with dirt and sweat. She had sparred with Gwishin hundreds upon hundreds of times, falling to the ground again and again. Each time she rose, her resolve hardened—but her body grew weaker. Blood dripped from her face, staining the grass beneath her feet. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't rested. The longest break she'd taken was twenty minutes.
Gwishin, on the other hand, showed no signs of fatigue. Her stance remained firm, her movements sharp. She watched Viora struggle to stand, her expression unreadable.
Cyrus's eyes narrowed as he observed the scene. His thoughts drifted.
Maybe it's time to stop for today…
But before he could speak, Gwishin's voice rang out, loud and commanding.
"Is this all you're capable of, Viora? If you don't give it your all, you'll never grasp the first step of Mushin!"
Viora gritted her teeth, her entire body trembling as she slowly pushed herself off the ground. Blood dripped from her chin onto the garden floor, staining the green grass. Her voice was shaky but unwavering as she spoke.
"Not yet… Not yet… I can still… get up."
Gwishin's serious expression softened into a gentle smile. She took a step forward.
"Then let's continue."
Without warning, Gwishin broke into a run. Her speed increased with every second, her footsteps a blur. This time, she wasn't holding back. Her intent was clear.
Viora, barely able to open her swollen eyes, stood her ground. Her vision blurred, but her mind… her mind was crystal clear. It wasn't just her thoughts guiding her now. It was something deeper.
No, it wasn't her mind at all.
It was her soul.
A voice echoed in her heart—her own voice, yet it sounded distant, like a memory.
Mama Ipoh… After your death, I tried. I tried to become a shaman like you. I tried to live my life and be happy… no matter what.
Tears mixed with the blood on her cheeks, but she stood firm.
If I have to fall hundreds upon hundreds of times…
If I have to endure pain beyond measure…
To live a life where, on my deathbed, I can smile without regret…
"Then…" she whispered to herself, her voice merging with her thoughts.
"As my way of the shaman… I will rise again."
In the blink of an eye, Gwishin was in front of her. The punch came fast—aimed straight for Viora's face. But something shifted.
Viora's body moved on its own.
She ducked under Gwishin's arm, slipping past her like a blur of motion. Cyrus's eyes widened in shock. Gwishin's eyes did too.
For a brief moment, time seemed to slow.
Viora was behind Gwishin now, her fist clenched tight. Her stance was steady, her breathing calm. There was no hesitation in her movements. It wasn't planned. It wasn't thought out. It was pure instinct.
She launched her punch with incredible speed—so fast it rivaled the greatest boxers in history. Her fist cut through the air, closing in on Gwishin's back.
Her white pupils glowed faintly, her face expressionless, save for a small trail of drool slipping from her mouth.
And in that moment, as her punch was mere seconds from connecting, one thought echoed in her mind:
I will fall and rise again, no matter how many times it takes… for all the things my heart seeks—
And for all the things you sought for me.
Just as Viora's punch was moments from landing, her body gave out. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she started to collapse toward the ground.
But before she could fall, Gwishin moved swiftly, catching Viora by the waist. Her grip was firm, yet gentle, holding Viora upright with one arm wrapped around her stomach.
Viora's head slumped forward, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Blood and sweat dripped from her face, staining Gwishin's sleeve. Yet, even in exhaustion, there was peace in her expression—a quiet triumph.
Gwishin looked down at her with a tender smile, brushing a stray lock of hair from Viora's bruised face.
Behind them, Cyrus stood from the wooden steps, his usual stoic expression softening into something rare: a gentle smile.
"Just now… it was…" Cyrus began, his voice low but steady.
Gwishin glanced back at him and nodded.
"She managed to enter Mushin, even if only for a moment." Her voice carried a mix of pride and relief. "But… it seems she's finally reached her limit, Master Cyrus."
Cyrus approached slowly, his hands resting in his pockets as he gazed at Viora.
"Yeah… She's in no shape to walk home like this. She'll have to stay here tonight."
Gwishin carefully adjusted Viora's weight in her arms, making sure the girl wouldn't fall.
Cyrus sighed softly, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"She'll have some explaining to do tomorrow… to her foster parents."
Gwishin chuckled lightly, brushing dust from her robes.
"Indeed. But… I doubt they'd understand what she's achieved today."
Cyrus's gaze lingered on Viora's sleeping face. He nodded slowly.
"They wouldn't. Only a shaman could."
And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garden in twilight, the three of them stood in silence—bound by a shared understanding.
Tonight, Viora had taken her first step on the path of a true shaman.
And tomorrow, her journey would continue.
***
It was two in the morning. The house was quiet, bathed in moonlight filtering through the windows. Viora lay in one of the spare rooms, fast asleep, her body wrapped in fresh bandages. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of deep, exhausted slumber.
Outside, Cyrus sat on the wooden steps of the garden, his gaze fixed on the silver glow of the moon. His expression was calm, his thoughts distant. The cool night air brushed against his face, carrying the faint sound of crickets chirping in the distance.
After a long pause, he sighed softly, a rare gentle smile crossing his lips. Without turning around, he spoke:
"You can't sleep… can you, Gwishin?"
There was a quiet rustle behind him as Gwishin emerged from the shadows of the house. Her steps were light as she approached the stairs, her long robe swaying in the breeze. Without a word, she sat beside Cyrus, folding her hands neatly in her lap as her gaze lifted to the sky.
For a while, neither spoke. The crickets sang their nighttime melody, and the cold air wrapped around them both.
Finally, Gwishin broke the silence, her voice soft and thoughtful.
"I wanted to speak with you before falling asleep, Master Cyrus." Her tone was formal, yet there was a touch of warmth. "I guess… I have a question. After all, it's our first day together in four years."
Cyrus glanced at her from the corner of his eye. His expression remained calm, but something in his gaze softened—a flicker of emotion buried beneath his usual stoicism.
"Go ahead," he said quietly, his voice steady.
Gwishin took a moment to gather her thoughts, her eyes never leaving the moon. Her face, usually composed and serious, seemed gentler in the moonlight.
"When I first saw you again… I wondered if you were still the same person I once knew. The Cyrus I remember was always alone. Always distant."
Cyrus remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
"But today, when I saw how you watched over Viora… I saw someone different. Someone who cares, even if you don't say it aloud." She paused, turning to look at him directly. "So… my question is simple."
Cyrus finally met her gaze, his expression unreadable.
"What is it?"
Gwishin's voice was steady, but there was a hint of vulnerability in her words.
"Why did you bring me back?"
The question hung in the air, lingering between them like a thread waiting to be pulled.
Cyrus looked away, his eyes returning to the moon. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but firm.
"Because you're someone I trust."
Gwishin's eyes widened ever so slightly, her lips parting in surprise.
"Trust…?"
Cyrus nodded slowly.
"I don't trust many people. I never have. But… you're different, Gwishin. You always have been."
The two sat in silence again, the moonlight casting long shadows across the garden.
After a while, Gwishin let out a small, relieved laugh.
"I see… I'm glad."
As Gwishin sat beside Cyrus, her gaze remained fixed on the moon. The silver light bathed the garden in a quiet, ethereal glow. For a long time, neither spoke, letting the night's serenity stretch between them.
But then, Gwishin hesitated, her lips parting slightly before she spoke in a low, tentative voice.
"Did you… find your answer?"
Cyrus's eyes widened at her words. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, waiting for her to finish.
"Did you find your answer about what your burden and pride as a shaman is?"
The question hung in the air, like a ripple spreading through still water.
Cyrus let out a long sigh, his gaze returning to the moon. His voice was steady but carried a heaviness, as if he had spent years wrestling with this very question.
"...I thought I gave up on it."
Gwishin remained quiet, listening closely.
"I thought I completely gave up on the idea of a shaman's pride," Cyrus continued, his tone soft but bitter. "For years, I convinced myself that my way of the shaman was to hate. To despise ignorant, selfish, cowardly humans... and to protect only the ones I deemed worthy. The ones who might grow into kind, understanding people. People who could respect nature, spirits, and each other."
He shook his head slowly, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
"I thought that was the right path. That if I followed it, I would honor Liliana's beliefs."
Gwishin's eyes flickered with recognition at the name. She knew how much Liliana meant to Cyrus.
"But it wasn't what she would've wanted for me," Cyrus went on, his voice quieter now. "Liliana hated humans, too. Maybe even more than I did. But in the end… she found peace. She was able to be reborn without any hatred left in her heart. That was her true pride as a medium."
His gaze remained fixed on the moon, but his expression softened, as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders.
"I was too blinded by my own rage to see it. Too stubborn to notice the clue she left behind."
There was a long silence. The crickets chirped, and a soft breeze rustled the trees.
Cyrus closed his eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
"Viora… she reminds me of Liliana in some ways."
Gwishin tilted her head slightly, curious.
"But," Cyrus continued, "since I've been living on my own for these past four years… I've started to wonder. Is that really the right way to look at things?"
He opened his eyes, the moonlight reflecting in them.
"The shaman pride isn't universal. It's different for everyone. My grandma, my grandpa, Shirokae, even my mom… they all carried their own burdens. They all had their own pride as shamans."
He sighed again, this time with a touch of vulnerability.
"I still don't know what my own shaman pride will become. But… if I keep hating humanity, cursing them for what they've done, I'll never find it. I'll never be able to pass away in peace. And I'll never live a happy life."
For a moment, his expression was distant, as if he were staring into his own memories.
"So… I've decided. I'll protect as many spirits as I can. And I'll protect as many people as I can. No matter how hard it is… I'll keep searching. I'll find my answer."
Gwishin watched him with quiet admiration. There was a warmth in her gaze, a gentle light that hadn't been there before. After a moment, she smiled softly.
Cyrus noticed her expression and tilted his head, curious.
"What is it?"
Gwishin shook her head lightly, her smile lingering.
"Nothing. I'm just… glad."
"Glad?"
She nodded, her voice gentle, almost tender.
"I'm glad that you've found something to fight for. Something beyond hate."
Cyrus blinked, surprised by her words.
"You seem more at peace than I've ever seen you before, Master Cyrus."
There was a brief silence between them. Then, after a moment, Cyrus chuckled softly.
"...I guess I am."
Cyrus's lips curved into a faint smile once more.
"Now, get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day."
Gwishin stood, brushing dust from her robe. As she turned to leave, she glanced back one last time.
"Thank you… for trusting me, Master Cyrus."
Cyrus didn't respond immediately, his gaze still fixed on the moon. After a moment, he spoke softly.
"You don't have to call me 'Master.' Not anymore."
Gwishin blinked, a look of surprise crossing her face before she smiled gently.
"Goodnight, Cyrus."
And with that, she disappeared into the house, leaving Cyrus alone once more.
But this time, as he gazed up at the moon, he no longer felt the crushing weight of solitude. Instead, he felt something lighter. Something warmer.
Hope.
chapter sixty-one end