"Break is over, you little…"
Bushido-sensei stopped mid-sentence, his single, scarred eye drifting across the panting recruits. He lingered for a moment on Yorimitsu and Watanabe no Tsuna.
"Hahhahaha... these two aren't half bad," he thought, his gaze then flicking toward Namikaze no Mai. "Mmm, even he is holding up, though his talent is a shadow compared to those two." The instructor took one last, massive gulp from his gourd before tossing it aside. It hit the dirt with a heavy thud, the liquid inside sloshing rhythmically.
"You all are pathetic," Bushido-sensei boomed, his voice echoing off the training hall walls. "At this pace, every single one of you will be a corpse on your first mission next week."
A wave of panicked murmurs rippled through the ranks.
"A week?!"
"Bushido-sensei really is as strict as the rumours say... sending us out in seven days?"
"I heard he didn't even want this teaching post. Why is he suddenly so invested in pushing us? What an odd and terrifying man."
"LISTEN TO ME!"
Bushido's voice exploded. The sheer pressure of his Reiryoku caused the weaker students to collapse to their knees, clutching their ears as their vision blurred.
"Listen well," he growled, pacing before them like a caged beast. "There are three pillars you must master to become a true Yokai slaying Warrior.
First is your Physical Attribute. Your muscles, your sinew, even your eyes, each one of these should be refined to the utmost perfection.
Second is your Reiryoku. You must train your spiritual energy. Without it, you cannot exorcise even the weakest Yōkai. Physical strength alone will only take you so far before the spirits devour you.
And finally..." He stopped, his gaze locking onto Yorimitsu. "...you must master your Breath. That is the line that defines a true fighter from the common thugs who simply play with spiritual powers."
…
In the deep mountains of the north.
…
"Hikaru-chan! Please, be careful!"
The frantic cry of a servant girl, Miazaki, was nearly swallowed by the roar of the river, far below a narrow log, where grey waves crashed with a violent rhythm, spraying mist into the air. The wood swayed and groaned with every precarious step Hikaru took, yet the girl moved with a strange, light-footed grace that defied the danger.
"Miazaki..." Hikaru's voice was calm, drifting back over the water. She stretched her arms out like the wings of a crane, balancing herself against the wind. "Do you believe in fate?"
Miazaki stood at the river's edge, her small hands balled into trembling fists. She had tried to follow, her sandals slipping on the mossy bark, her nerves had shattered, forcing her back to the safety of the muddy bank.
"If I say yes... will you come back?" Miazaki's voice cracked, tears welling in her eyes as she watched her friend dance over the abyss.
"No," Hikaru responded simply.
She didn't turn around. Instead, she sat down right in the middle of the swaying log, her legs dangling over the rushing white water. She reached down, her fingers grazing the surface, playing with the current as if it were a string of silk.
"Phhhft..." she giggled, the sound bright and out of place against the jagged rocks. "Well, you see... lately, I've been having these dreams."
"If you are having dreams, shouldn't you tell them to the Shamen?" Miazaki asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
In the North, the old women of the shrines were the only ones allowed to interpret the whispers of the gods.
"Shhhh!"
Hikaru pressed a slender finger to her lips, her expression twisting into a brief flash of annoyance. "I don't want to talk to those old women. That's why I'm talking to you, isn't it, Miazaki?"
Before the servant could respond, Hikaru's hand plunged into the water when she pulled it back, a silver fish thrashed in her grip, its scales shimmering like moonlight. She looked at the creature not with hunger, but with a deep, unsettling curiosity.
"Tch... yes, Princess," Miazaki thought, her mind a frantic whirlpool of anxiety. "What the hell is going on with this family? First, it was Master Yorimitsu acting like a different person, and now it's Hikaru. She's never been this reckless. If she slips into that freezing current, I'm the one the master will hold accountable."
The servant girl took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. "Okay, Princess! If you come back from the log right now, I'll listen to your whole story. I won't even tell Master Minamoto that you sneaked out today."
"What? Really?" Hikaru turned her head, a warm, radiant smile spreading across her face.
Miazaki felt her heart soften instantly. "Hah... It's always that smile. I don't know why, but every time I see it, all my anger just vanishes."
Hikaru's return over the log was unnervingly light; her feet barely seemed to touch the bark. As she stepped onto the muddy bank, Miazaki let out a massive, trembling sigh of relief.
"Okay, now listen..." Hikaru said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She pulled Miazaki close, her eyes bright.
As she began to speak, the sun dipped toward the horizon, bleeding marvellous shades of violet and orange across the northern snow. The landscape looked like a painting, blurring the line between reality and the dream Hikaru had been reliving for nights on end.
"A raven, you say?" Miazaki repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"Yes," Hikaru nodded fervently. "But it wasn't like any bird in the woods. It was a raven with massive, white wings... and it could speak in the tongue of men."
Miazaki went silent.
"What did it say?" Miazaki whispered, the cold air suddenly feeling much sharper.
Hikaru looked out over the river, her smile fading into a look of deep, ancient longing. "It didn't speak to me. It was calling out to me." Hikaru paused her gaze, drifting ahead.
"Hah... Miazaki! Look at that!"
Hikaru didn't wait for a response. She bolted toward a cluster of frost-covered ferns near the river's edge, her silk robes fluttering against the snow. Miazaki scrambled after her, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Princess, wait!"
Nestled in the hollow of an upturned root was a wolf cub. It was small, its fur matted with frozen blood and grey mud, its breathing coming in ragged, wet gasps. It had been bitten and battered, as if hunted by something far.
As Miazaki caught up, she let out a muffled gasp, pressing her sleeve to her mouth.
"What... what is that?"
Protruding from the cub's mangled flanks were small, stunted structures, malformed wings covered in thin, oily feathers.
Hikaru reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from the cub's snout. The creature let out a low, pathetic whimper, its eyes clouded with a milky, spiritual film.