POV - KIRIN
In a chamber steeped in gloom, Kirin sat solitary, a poised figure carved from the darkness itself. The air hung heavy with the scent of ancient stone and the faint tang of rust, remnants of a world long battered by strife.
She held herself upright, her spine a rigid column of strength, legs crossed beneath her in a tight, purposeful knot. Her breathing flowed slow and deep, each measured inhale pulling in the chill of the room, each exhale releasing a soft plume that danced briefly in the dimness before dissolving into the shadows.
Before her, on the rough-hewn stone floor speckled with dust and time, rested her unsheathed katana. Its blade glinted with a cold, predatory sheen, reflecting the scarce light that dared to pierce the room's oppressive murk.
The room pulsed with a muted stillness, broken only by the occasional drip of water seeping through unseen cracks, a somber rhythm that reverberated off walls cloaked in moss and mystery. The walls, draped in thick silence, seemed to lean inward, as if straining to hear the secrets of her meditation.
Ever since Kirin had arrived at this place, she had sensed that this room held a distinct essence, unlike the other cavernous halls of the ancient castle. It felt primal, foundational, as if its stones were laid long before the rest of the castle was constructed, its walls imbued with a quiet potency that sharpened the mind. It was precisely what she craved now—a sanctuary to hone her focus.
She closed her eyes and reached inward, her consciousness slipping into the vivid expanse of her mind's eye. The world shifted, and she stood upon a small, solitary island, a speck of land adrift in an endless ocean that stretched to the horizon in every direction.
She shut her eyes and plunged into the depths of her mind's eye. The world shifted, and she stood upon a tiny island, a lone sentinel amidst an ocean vast and boundless, its edges lost to the infinite curve of the earth.
Dawn's light bathed the scene in a radiant amber, though no sun crowned the heavens—only a pervasive, sourceless glow. The sea stretched out like a polished mirror, its surface so tranquil it seemed to hold its breath, undisturbed by even the faintest ripple or sigh of wind.
Kirin sank to one knee at the water's edge, the jagged pebbles beneath her grinding against her skin, and extended a hand over the glassy expanse. She inhaled deeply, her fingers trembled slightly as she focused, as if she could awaken the dormant sea with sheer intent.
Nothing happened.
Undeterred, she stretched out her other hand, both palms now poised above the water, trembling slightly with effort. "Come on, come on," she muttered under her breath, the plea a low growl of frustration and grit.
The muscles in her arms tensed, muscles coiling like serpents beneath her skin as she poured every ounce of her will into the act.
The water mocked her with its silence at first, an unyielding wall against her intent.
Then—a quiver.
A delicate ripple unfurled from beneath her hands, fragile as a spider's thread.
Kirin gasped, her eyes widening, and redoubled her concentration, her entire being straining with the effort.
Bubbles rose, tentative at first—one, then two, then a hesitant cluster—breaking the surface like the gasps of a waking giant .
But her endurance buckled; a shuddering, shallow breath tore from her throat, as if she'd been submerged alongside her efforts.
The sea reclaimed its stillness, the fleeting disturbance erased as swiftly as it came. Kirin lifted her gaze, peering into the far distance. Far off, where the amber light met the water's edge, a figure—a dark, motionless shape stood atop the water, watching her with an unnerving stillness.
She frowned, her brow creasing with confusion and unease.
Then, a faint voice brushed against her senses, soft as a breeze yet piercing—Kirin, Kirin.
Her mind jolted, and the vision shattered. She was yanked back to the dark room.
Kirin sprang from her meditative pose with the grace of a panther, her body uncoiling in a fluid, acrobatic leap. Her hand snatched the katana from the stone floor, and with a swift, practiced swing, she brought the blade arcing through the air—only to halt it an inch from a frail, wrinkled neck.
"Oh deary me, that was close," rasped a voice, ancient and creaky as old timber.
It was the old woman. Kirin, her breath still coming in labored bursts from the strain of her trance, let her sword arm fall back to her side. "Stop doing that," she snapped between shallow, ragged breaths, her chest heaving.
The old woman tilted her head, a birdlike gesture of feigned innocence. "Doing what?" she asked, her tone laced with mock confusion.
Kirin's eyes narrowed, her frustration boiling over. "Sneaking up on people," she retorted sharply.
The woman shrugged, her bony shoulders lifting beneath her tattered shawl. "I didn't do any sneaking," she countered breezily. "It's not my fault you didn't hear me."
A wry, toothless smile split her wrinkled face as she tacked on, teasingly, "If my guide is so oblivious to her surroundings, how will she protect us?" She paused, her milky eyes drifting as if peering into some unseen distance, then murmured to herself, "Will it really be all right?"
Kirin clicked her tongue, the sound sharp with irritation. "What do you want, old woman?" she demanded, her patience stretched thin as a wire.
The old woman let out a dry, crackling chuckle, the sound like leaves skittering across stone.
When the laughter faded, the old woman fixed her clouded, unseeing eyes on Kirin, a ripple of worry etching itself across her ancient features. "Even now," she asked softly, "you still seek to wield that power?"
Kirin turned her head aside, her lips sealed tight, offering no reply.
Undeterred, the woman pressed on, her voice gentle yet probing. "I don't blame you for wanting it. It's yours by blood, after all. But even what he did…"
Kirin cut her off sharply, her voice a low growl, "I don't want to talk about it.
"But the old woman continued, relentless as the tide, "…"…banishing you, stripping you of your power…"
Kirin's gave the woman a deathly glare, fury ignited, her breath hitching as heat rose in her chest, her fists clenching until her knuckles whitened.
Still, the woman continued, her tone laced with a mournful edge, "A shame, truly. You had a gift for it—a talent that could have rivaled him, perhaps even surpassed him.
"Kirin's patience snapped like a brittle twig. "I said I don't want to talk about it!" she roared, her voice a thunderclap in the confined space. Her katana flared to life, its blade igniting with a deep, pulsating blue light that bathed the room in an eerie glow. The stone walls shuddered violently, dust raining from the ceiling as the floor trembled beneath their feet.
The old woman stood unshaken, her frail form steady amidst the chaos, her blind eyes fixed forward.
The quaking subsided, leaving Kirin panting heavily, her chest rising and falling with the aftermath of her outburst.
Silence reclaimed the room, thick and heavy. With a slow nod, the woman spoke again, her voice calm, "Very well. That's not why I sought you out anyway. It's about him."
Kirin's eyebrow arched, suspicion flickering in her stormy gaze.
"Ares," the old woman said.