POV: Kai Mizushino
Place: Village School Training Grounds, Forest of Withered Stars
Date: September 5, 2214 (17 Years Before the Fall)
The wind rustled through the trees, carrying the soft hum of nature and the distant echoes of children's laughter. The sun filtered gently through the canopy above the training grounds behind the village school, casting dappled shadows across the worn dirt field.
Kai stood at the edge, staring at the wooden training swords laid out on a straw mat. His fingers itched with hesitation.
He had never held a sword before.
He had always been too focused on books, too caught up in the weight of magic he couldn't wield, in the dreams he was told he could never reach. The word "warrior" had always sounded like a fairytale from someone else's story. But not today.
"Here," Akito called, tossing one of the wooden swords toward him. "Try not to drop it!"
Kai fumbled with the grip but managed to catch it. He winced a little—his palms were still tender from the scrapes he got days ago, when he'd been shoved to the dirt, food crushed beneath the feet of bullies.
"Are you sure about this?" Kai asked.
Touya, who was leaning casually against a tree, arms crossed, nodded. "You'll never know until you try. Magic isn't everything."
Akito grinned. "Yeah! Besides, if anyone picks on you again, we'll just train you to knock them flat!"
Kai gave a tiny smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
He took a deep breath.
The training began simple—stance, grip, balance. Touya was surprisingly patient, his usually smug tone softening into something like instruction. Akito, meanwhile, was energetic and fast, wildly swinging and laughing, but somehow still encouraging.
Kai watched them both. Touya's precision. Akito's energy.
And then, he moved.
The first swing was weak. The second, clumsy. The third didn't even hit its mark.
But he didn't stop.
Again and again, he raised the blade. Again and again, he struck out. The wooden sword shook in his hands, the weight unfamiliar, but his arms slowly began to adjust. Sweat built along his brow. His breathing grew louder.
He wasn't graceful.
He wasn't fast.
But every time he swung, he remembered that moment under the tree. The boys who had laughed. The pain. The shame. The anger.
And each strike became heavier. Sharper.
"I see you've got fire after all," Touya muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Akito whooped. "Yeah! Hit harder, Kai! Imagine their dumb faces!"
Kai laughed softly, just once—but it was real.
By midday, they all collapsed under the shade of the training tree, breathing hard, their clothes sticking to them from the sweat. Kai's arms trembled, and his shoulders ached, but he felt something new stirring inside him.
Pride.
"I wasn't… that bad, was I?" he asked.
Akito looked at him like he'd just grown wings. "You were awesome!"
Touya smirked. "Not awful. You've got a long way to go—but potential? Yeah, I see it."
Kai glanced at the wooden sword still clutched loosely in his hand.
Maybe… maybe he couldn't cast a spell. Not yet.
But he could learn this.
He could become strong in a different way.
"I want to train again," Kai said quietly. "Every day."
Akito sat up. "I'll be there! We'll make you into the coolest swordmaster ever!"
Touya extended a hand, and Kai took it. "Count me in. We're your friends, Kai. You won't face this world alone."
As the sun dipped lower, casting long golden rays across the field, the three boys stood together once more—this time, not as strangers, but as comrades.
And in Kai's hands, the sword didn't feel so heavy anymore.
To be continued.
[End of Chapter 11: The Blade in His Hand]