Asari stepped into his room and closed the door behind him with a quiet click. The soft sound echoed louder than expected in the stillness of the small dorm.
The room was simple—modest in size, sparsely decorated. A single bed, a wooden desk, a bookshelf filled with basic academy-provided materials. A large window stretched along the far wall, revealing the distant mountains bathed in the golden light of late afternoon.
For a brief moment, Asari stood still.
Then, slowly, he reached behind his back and unstrapped the bamboo stick. He placed it with care against the wall, as if laying down a precious artifact. Its surface was worn smooth from use, but it carried a quiet presence—much like its owner.
He crossed the room and sat down cross-legged on the floor. The polished wooden panels felt cool beneath him, grounding. He closed his eyes.
Silence wrapped around him like a familiar friend.
The academy's distant noise—the clashing of wooden swords, the scattered chatter of students, the rustling of leaves—faded into the background. In his mind, it all dissolved into stillness.
Inhale.
Exhale.
His breaths were steady, controlled, practiced.
The flicker of restlessness he'd carried since his arrival dulled into embers. It didn't vanish—Asari wasn't naïve enough to believe meditation erased emotion—but it became manageable. His master's teachings echoed faintly in his mind, as if the man still sat beside him.
"To be still in chaos is the greatest strength."
He remembered the forest's whispers, the rhythmic roar of the waterfall, and the crackling campfires of his youth. He remembered evenings spent training under the stars, bruised and bloodied, and yet content.
But that time had passed.
He was here now.
Not to become famous. Not to prove anyone wrong.
But because he had made a vow—to continue walking forward.
A soft knock on the door broke the silence.
Asari's eyes opened, slowly, as if emerging from deep water. His senses returned in layers—the fading sunlight through the window, the creak of the floor, the presence of another behind the door.
He rose without a word and opened it.
A student stood there, unfamiliar, holding a small parchment. "You're Asari, right? Your class starts in ten minutes. Swordsmanship basics."
Asari nodded once.
The student blinked, awkwardly expecting more, then handed over the parchment and left.
Asari folded the paper neatly and set it on his desk. He picked up his bamboo stick, now secured again on his back, and stepped into the corridor.
The journey had begun.
The academy's training grounds sprawled beneath a sky streaked with orange and gold. Pillars of marble lined the space like silent guardians, and enchanted torches lit themselves in anticipation of evening.
Students gathered in uniform rows, each holding a standard-issue wooden blade. The air buzzed with low chatter and restless energy.
Asari arrived quietly and positioned himself at the far end of the last row. His presence barely caused a ripple among the students. Just another newcomer—silent, average-looking, forgettable.
Or so they thought.
A woman with short black hair tied in a sharp tail stepped forward. Her uniform bore golden embroidery, marking her rank. A heavy sword rested across her back with casual ease.
"I am Instructor Vael," she announced, her voicecuttingthrough the murmurs like a blade. "I teach beginner swordsmanship. If you're here expecting special treatment because of your family name, leave now."
A few students stiffened.
"I don't care where you come from, what titles you inherited, or who sings your praises," she continued. "On this ground, only skill speaks."
Her eyes swept over the rows. They paused, briefly, on Asari—but moved on without comment.
"We begin with paired footwork drills. Find a partner. No talking. Just movement."
The students shuffled quickly, forming pairs. Asari ended up with a quiet boy slightly taller than him. The boy gave him a wary glance, but said nothing.
Their training began.
Step forward. Slide left. Twist. Strike. Parry.
Wooden blades cracked against each other in controlled motion. Asari moved with minimal effort. His steps were precise, his posture clean. His strikes lacked unnecessary flair, yet carried hidden sharpness.
He didn't overpower his partner. He matched the pace exactly, never too fast or too slow. Like water—always adapting.
From the sidelines, Instructor Vael watched with a narrowed gaze.
She saw it. The restraint. The balance. The unnatural ease.
But she said nothing.
As the drills continued, sweat trickled down many brows. Students stumbled, groaned, adjusted. Asari, however, never broke form.
It wasn't arrogance. It was instinct.
"Enough for today," Instructor Vael finally called. "Dismissed."
The students exhaled in relief, scattering to rest or chat. Laughter and idle banter filled the air.
Asari turned and walked away without looking back.
He passed through the courtyard where stone fountains whispered beneath the trees. Students lounged under the shade, exchanging gossip, jokes, dreams.
He didn't stop to join.
He had no reason to.
But as he reached the quiet edge of the dormitory path, he slowed. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the earth.
A faint smile tugged at his lips—barely visible.
If Master could see me now…
He didn't finish the thought. It didn't need to be completed.
His gaze lifted toward the sky.
Tomorrow, he would return.
Tomorrow, his silent resolve would grow louder.