Fifty hit like a hammer, his knees buckling as the spell frayed at the edges, shadows unraveling in a rush of dissipating darkness. He gasped, dropping to one knee, the grove tilting around him as he braced a hand against the moss. His chest heaved, breaths coming in quick, shallow bursts, the air tasting of pine and his own exhaustion.
"Fifty seconds," Lirien said, crouching beside him, her hand landing on his shoulder, warm and steady through the tunic. "Better than yesterday—way better."
He managed a weak grin, his silver hair sticking to his damp forehead. "Still crap," he panted, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"You'll get it," she said, her tone firm, brooking no argument. She hauled him to his feet, her grip strong and sure, her smaller frame belying the power in her arms. "I'll make you. The sun won't own you forever—I promise."
Their eyes met, her green gaze bright and unwavering, and something twisted in his chest—warmth, sharp and sudden, laced with a confusion he couldn't name. "Thanks, Lirien," he said, the words slipping out softer than he intended.
She smirked, breaking the moment as she shoved a practice sword into his hands, its wooden hilt rough against his palms. "Don't thank me yet," she said, drawing her own blade with a flourish. "Block this!"
Her sword swung in a blur of motion, the air whistling as it cut toward him. He raised his own, the clash of wood against wood reverberating through the grove like a thunderclap. She pressed him hard, her strikes a relentless cascade—high, low, a feint to his left that he barely caught. Her laughter rang out, bright and taunting, as he stumbled back, boots slipping on the moss. "Too slow!" she called, landing a light tap on his arm with the flat of her blade, the sting sharp but fleeting.
"Cheat!" he shot back, lunging forward, his sword wobbling in his grip as he aimed for her shoulder. She sidestepped effortlessly, her foot hooking his ankle in a swift, practiced move, and he hit the ground with a thud, breath exploding from his lungs in a rush.
She loomed over him, her sword's tip hovering an inch from his chest, her grin wide and victorious. "Hopeless," she said, her voice dripping with mock pity. "Again."
He groaned, rolling to his feet, the practice sword heavier now, his arms aching. "You're brutal," he muttered, brushing moss from his tunic.
"And you're alive," she countered, tossing her braid over her shoulder with a flick of her head. "Let's go—next round."
They trained and trained for hours until he felt himself get a solid hit before she countered hitting his shoulder as he rolled and slammed into a tree blacking out.
A shadowy figure stood over him with a smirk.
The grove's shadows blurred, the pine trees melting into a gray haze, and Kaelith—or Kazu—stood on a rain-drenched rooftop in Tokyo. The city stretched below, an endless sprawl of neon lights flickering through the storm, their colors bleeding into the dark like spilled paint. Rain hammered the concrete, a deafening roar that drowned out the hum of traffic far below, soaking through Kazu's jacket until it clung to him like a second skin. His black hair plastered to his forehead, dripping into his eyes, and the wind howled, clawing at him with icy fingers as he gripped the rooftop's edge, knuckles white, nails scraping against the rough surface.
"Hiro!" he screamed, his voice raw, tearing through the storm's fury. His best friend dangled from the ledge, one hand locked in Kazu's grip, the other flailing for a hold on the slick concrete. Hiro's face was pale, rain streaming into his wide, panicked eyes, his dark hair matted against his skull like wet ink. His fingers slipped in Kazu's grasp, the rain making everything treacherous—his skin, the ledge, the desperate hope they clung to.
"Don't let go!" Hiro pleaded, his voice breaking, high and thin over the wind's howl. "Kazu, please—don't let me fall!"
"I've got you," Kazu shouted, his arm straining as he leaned over the edge, muscles screaming under the weight. His boots skidded on the wet rooftop, his free hand clawing at the concrete for leverage. "Hold on—just hold on!"
But the rain was merciless, turning Hiro's hand into a slick, sliding thing. Kazu tightened his grip, nails digging into Hiro's skin, drawing blood that mixed with the water streaming between them. "I've got you," he repeated, a mantra against the fear clawing up his throat, but Hiro's weight dragged him forward, inch by agonizing inch. Fifty pounds felt like five hundred, the storm a beast pulling them both toward the abyss.
Hiro's fingers slipped—a slow, inevitable slide, his nails scraping Kazu's palm as he fought to hold on. "Kazu!" he cried, his voice a jagged sob, and then he was gone, his hand breaking free in a heartbeat. Kazu lunged, a scream ripping from his chest, but his fingers closed on empty air, rain stinging his eyes as Hiro fell. The boy's body twisted in the storm, his cry swallowed by the wind and thunder, vanishing into the black maw of the city below.
Kazu collapsed to his knees, the rooftop's cold biting through his soaked jeans. Rain mingled with tears, streaming down his face as he pounded the concrete with his fists, blood blooming from split knuckles, red streaks diluting in the puddles around him. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, the words lost to the storm, his voice breaking on every syllable. "Hiro, I'm sorry—I should've saved you…"
The guilt was a living thing, a blade lodged in his ribs, twisting deeper with every ragged breath. If he'd been stronger, if he'd pulled harder, if he'd braced himself better—Hiro would be alive. But he'd failed, his hands too weak, his will too brittle, and that failure etched itself into his bones, a scar that bled anew every time he closed his eyes.