1221-01-05
That night, I didn't get much sleep.
The room is empty, and although I had hoped for someone to talk to, no one comes.
The sun begins to rise, its orange glow spilling over the mountains to the east. I watch it from a small, rectangular window near the bed.
A small window.
Knock.
"Wake up," a stern voice calls from behind the door.
I get out of bed, making sure to straighten the blankets. Ino always told me to keep things tidy. The bed is hard, but it's better than nothing.
I change into the clothes they provided—a simple black robe with wide sleeves and a thin belt that ties around the waist. The fabric is rough, clearly made for practicality rather than comfort, but it fits well enough.
On the stand beside my bed is the broken knight figure. Its head and body still lie separate on the table. I couldn't fix it last night.
"Today, I'll try to fix it," I tell myself softly.
When I open the door, I find all the other kids from the orphanage standing outside their rooms. They're lined up in neat rows, two by two, each pair clearly sharing a room. They're saluting, their hands raised in uniform gestures.
I follow suit, saluting the air in front of me, unsure of what exactly we're supposed to be doing. Minutes pass. Maybe hours? It feels endless, yet nothing happens.
The boy and girl I'd seen in the yard are standing next to each other. They exchange glances—blinking, winking—a silent, hidden language passing between them.
Then, footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echo absurdly loud down the hall. A young man appears, no older than twenty. His black hair is neatly combed, but a scar cuts across his left eyebrow, adding to his imposing presence. He's inspecting the rooms, moving methodically from door to door.
The sound grows closer, each step heightening the tension. Finally, he reaches the room across from mine. The boy and girl from earlier step aside as he enters their room. I hear him checking the beds, likely for neatness, and then the scratching of a pen on paper as he writes in a small notepad.
He moves to my room next. When he comes back out, he's holding the headless knight in his hand.
"What is this?" he asks, his voice sharp.
"It's, um… a toy from my…" I falter, unsure what to call her. Friend? Mother?
"Well, in any case," he says coldly, "it needs to be destroyed."
"Why?" I cry, my voice trembling.
"Are you questioning me?" His glare feels like a dagger, cutting through my resolve.
I glance at the boy and girl across from me. They show no emotion, their faces blank and unreadable.
"No," I whisper, my shoulders slumping.
That knight was special to me. Ino gave it to me—something to hold on to, a piece of her. But even without it, she'll live on in my memory. I'll reach the stars for her, no matter what.
The man scribbles in his notepad again, then walks away with the toy in hand.
"Order!" he barks.
Almost in perfect unison, the other children lower their salutes and fall into step behind him, marching in silence.
"What's going on?" I murmur to myself, my mind spinning.
We follow him to the back yard. This time, the yard is completely different—filled with weapons of every kind imaginable. Katanas, spears, shields, halberds—they're all laid out neatly in rows.
The children descend the steps into the yard, forming a wide circle around him, waiting for his orders.
"Since you had an off day yesterday," he says, his voice sharp and commanding, "today you'll need to go harder."
He scans the group with piercing eyes.
"Pair up and spar with one another. While I talk with Nao and Hana."
The man left. The kids scattered. Most of the weapons were rusted and poorly maintained, their edges dull.
Is this… exercise? I wondered.
Since I didn't have a partner, the boy and girl from before approached me.
"Do you want to join us?" the girl asked, her voice soft but kind.
"Uh, yeah. Thank you," I replied hesitantly.
"What's your name, newbie?" the boy asked, raising an eyebrow.
"My name is Utsuho," I said.
"Utsuho…" the boy repeated, trailing off as though testing the sound.
"What are your names?" I asked, hoping to shift the focus.
"I'm Keenan," the boy said.
"And I'm Riku," the girl added with a smile, gesturing between them.
"Let's hurry up and start. We don't want T to get mad," Keenan said, glancing toward the orphanage.
"I've never fought before…" I murmured, letting my words drift off.
"We'll go easy on you," Riku assured me, her smile reassuring.
Keenan grabbed a katana, holding it with practiced ease. I glanced around, unsure, and eventually picked up a small, rusted dagger.
"Is this… good?" I asked, holding it up awkwardly.
"You got this!" Riku said, her encouragement lighting a small spark of confidence.
Keenan shifted into a fighting stance, his katana poised and ready. I fumbled with the dagger, finally managing to hold it upright and face him.
How do I make this look real? I thought to myself.
The truth is, I have fought before. Ino taught me how to fight, but never with real weapons. It was always with wooden sticks or soft padding. Still, her lessons should be enough here. But it's better if they think I don't know how to fight.
The man from before—T, as Keenan had called him—was probably watching us.
SNAP.
Before I could react, Keenan dashed toward me with startling speed. I raised the dagger instinctively, blocking his blade, but the force of the clash sent a shock through my arms. I stumbled backward, unprepared for his next move.
He darted in again, this time slipping to my side. Before I could adjust, he slammed the hilt of his katana into my head, knocking me to the ground.
"Are you okay?" Riku asked, crouching beside me with a concerned smile.
"I'm fine," I muttered, brushing the dirt off my clothes as I stood.
"Next time, choose a different weapon," Keenan laughed, his tone light but teasing.
"Daggers can be good," Riku said gently, stepping in to take my place.
I watched from the sidelines as she and Keenan squared off, her movements graceful but deliberate.
Keenan shifted his stance, dropping into a defensive posture, his movements slow but deliberate. Riku stepped forward, taking the daggers from my hands. She stretched her arms wide, as if preparing to embrace a fight.
"May I use my spirit?" Keenan asked, crouching low, his energy coiling like a spring ready to snap.
"You can't beat me regardless," Riku laughed, her voice light and teasing.
Keenan's focus sharpened, his rusty katana beginning to glow faintly. The dull blade transformed before my eyes, the rust flaking away to reveal a pristine weapon. Its steel gleamed with a pattern of black and red, flickering like flames.
Riku followed suit. Her daggers glimmered as their dull, corroded appearance melted away, replaced by brilliant weapons. One dagger radiated a deep crimson glow; the other shimmered jet-black.
I glanced around, startled to notice other kids doing the same. Their weapons, once broken and useless, now radiated power, their forms pristine and polished.
What is this? I thought, my chest tightening. The power to conquer the stars? No, they had called it something else. Spirit.
BANG!
The clash between Keenan and Riku sent shockwaves rippling through the air. Their movements blurred as they darted around each other, faster than my eyes could follow. The impacts of their strikes echoed like thunder, each one releasing a burst of energy that made the ground beneath us tremble.
I struggled to keep up, squinting to make out their forms. Gradually, my eyes adjusted. Keenan fought with raw, fiery intensity, his katana slashing through the air like a raging inferno. Riku was the opposite, her movements fluid and calculated. She danced around his attacks with grace, her daggers flickering like shadows.
Every collision between them sent a shockwave of energy outward, forcing the other kids to step back. Their power was overwhelming.
Finally, Riku ducked beneath one of Keenan's sweeping strikes, spinning behind him. Her daggers flashed as she crossed them at his throat.
The match was over.
Keenan froze, a smile forming on his lips even as a thin line of blood trickled down his neck.
"You win," he admitted, his voice steady despite his defeat.
Keenan dropped his katana, and as it hit the ground, it transformed back into the rusted, dull sword it had been before.
Riku grinned, lowering her daggers but keeping her gaze sharp. She turned to face me, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Do you want to fight me next?" she asked, her grin widening into a playful smirk.
"I'd—"
The man from before—T—descended the stone steps, clapping slowly. His applause echoed through the yard, and the sparring immediately ceased.
"What… what was that?" I asked, turning toward him, my voice filled with both awe and confusion.
"That," he said, his voice firm yet calm, "is the reason you are here."
"The reason I'm here?" I repeated.
"This," he continued, gesturing to the shimmering weapons in the hands of the others, "is called soul. A power discovered by the Supreme Leader. Commonly referred to as spirit, it is the manifestation of one's soul."
He opened his hand, and with a faint shimmer, a short wakizashi appeared in his grip. The blade's hilt was black, and its edge gleamed crimson, pulsating faintly like a heartbeat.
With a single, effortless motion, he slashed the air. The strike didn't end there; it extended, an invisible force cutting through the yard, tearing through trees in the distance. The sound of splintering wood followed seconds later as a row of trunks toppled.
"There are four stages of Spirit," he began. "The first stage involves using energy to manipulate the world around you."
"Is that what they were doing?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yes. The second stage grants a small ability you can use, usually for about ten seconds. For example, Keenan can see into the future a few seconds."
"Hey!" Keenan yelled. "We're not supposed to tell anyone about our Soul!"
"I didn't see him use that ability during the fight," I pointed out.
"He used the third stage," he replied. "The third stage is where things get interesting. At this level, you can create weapons—either by forging them directly from your soul or channeling energy into an existing weapon."
"So that's what they were doing," I said.
"Exactly. At this stage, your unique ability becomes stronger, lasts longer, and evolves to reflect your soul. It adapts to the form of the weapon or item you create."
"And what about the fourth stage?" I pressed.
He hesitated for a moment, then said, "The fourth stage is a secret ability, known only to the Supreme Leader and their family."
"You are here to learn," T said, turning to us, "to become soldiers who will protect the Supreme Leader. And assassins to eliminate those who dare oppose him—heretics."
"How… how do I activate my soul?" I asked.
"It takes time," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "Meditation. Practice. And understanding yourself."
"What happens if… if your soul breaks?" I asked hesitantly, imagining the glowing weapons shattered into pieces.
"Nothing," he said, his expression unchanging. "It will simply return to energy."