THE WORD HE CHOSE

The morning air nipped at my skin, that sharp, crisp cold that makes every breath feel like it could slice right through you.

I found myself alone in the training yard, the frost on the old wooden planks crunching beneath my boots as I adjusted my stance. The courtyard was eerily quiet, save for the occasional moan of the wind sneaking through the arrow slits in the stone walls.

I gripped the hilt of my practice sword, which felt heavier than I preferred, but it was perfect for building strength.

My arms were already protesting from the last set, but I steadied my footing and lifted the blade once more. This wasn’t about speed not yet, anyway.

This was all about control. Precision. The kind of control you need when reality starts to blur into dreams and nightmares.

The steel sliced through the air with a clean horizontal slash whish. Again. Whish. The rhythm was almost hypnotic, nearly enough to drown out the ache in my shoulders. Almost. I was halfway through another sequence when a familiar voice called out from behind me.

“Well, look at you,” Tsarra called out, her voice dripping with amusement. “Finally decided to stop fighting like a half-blind goat, huh?”

I didn’t even bother to turn around. “You came all the way out here just to embarrass yourself with those weak insults?”

She snorted, her footsteps crunching on the frost as she made her way across the yard. “Please. If I wanted to embarrass myself, I’d challenge you to a duel.”

I parried an imaginary blow, letting the tip of my blade hover in the air for a moment before moving again. “You’re welcome to try, but I’d hate for you to start your morning in tears.”

“Big talk for someone who can barely keep his wrists straight,” she shot back, leaning against the fence at the yard's edge. Her eyes followed my every move, a mix of mockery and genuine interest.

I tightened my grip and launched into another series of cuts—downward, upward, side sweep, pivot, thrust. Each motion sent a jolt through my already fatigued muscles, but I refused to let my form falter.

“You do realize,” she continued, “that swinging a sword around until your arms fall off isn’t the same as actually mastering it?”

Finally, I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were here to cheer me on.”

She flashed a grin, the kind that hinted she was about to dig in deeper. “I am cheering you on. In my own way. By reminding you that if you don’t keep your elbows in, you’ll look like you’re trying to swat a fly instead of fighting a battle.”

I rolled my eyes and returned to my drills. “Noted. Now, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to pick up a sword and show me how it’s done?”

She flashed a grin, the kind that hinted she was ready to dig in. “I’m rooting for you. In my own special way. By reminding you that if you don’t keep your elbows in, you’ll end up looking like you’re swatting at flies instead of actually fighting.”

I rolled my eyes and got back to my drills. “Got it. So, are you going to keep chatting, or are you going to grab a sword and show me how it’s really done?”

“Oh, I’d love to,” she replied, pushing off the fence, “but someone has to keep an eye on you before you accidentally chop off your own ear.”

We danced around each other for a bit—her with her relentless jabs and me pretending they didn’t get under my skin, even though we both knew they did in that familiar, annoying way. Honestly, I didn’t mind her being here.

Tsarra had always been like this, ever since we were kids. Quick with her words, sharper with her gaze. She noticed things I often overlooked, even when I didn’t want to admit it.

When she finally fell silent, it wasn’t because she’d run out of barbs—it was because she sensed the change in my breathing, the way my arms shook at the end of each swing. She didn’t mention it, but I could feel her eyes on me, studying me more intently.

“You’re pushing too hard,” she finally said.

I shook my head. “Not hard enough.”

“You really think exhausting yourself now is going to make things easier in the Dream Realm?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“It’s not about that,” I replied, resetting my stance once more. “It’s about ensuring that when I’m there, my body knows what to do without me having to think about it.”

For a brief moment, her expression softened, but she quickly masked it with another smirk. “So, you want to move like me? Flawless, graceful, deadly—”

“—overconfident, loud, and terrible at footwork?” I chimed in, a smirk creeping onto my face.

She gasped dramatically. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“Only if you can actually land a hit,” I replied, positioning my sword as if I was ready for anything.

With a flourish, she snatched a practice blade from the rack and stepped into the yard. “Oh, I will. And when I do, I’ll remind you of this moment every single day until you’re begging for mercy.”

The match that unfolded wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for my morning, but maybe it was just what I needed. Steel clashed against steel, and our laughter mingled with the sound of strikes that were a bit too fierce for a “friendly” spar.

The cold air stung my lungs, sweat soaked my collar, and for a brief moment, the heavy burden of the Dragonic Dimension felt like a distant memory.

But even as I deflected her last strike, I noticed it—the fleeting, flickering glance in her eyes when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. Concern. A worry she’d never voice.

And in that moment, I understood: she might not be joining me, but she was shouldering just as much of this weight as I was.

The sharp clang of steel rang out repeatedly, echoing across the empty training grounds like a relentless drumbeat. My hands were already shaking from the endless repetition, but I kept swinging. My blade no, Liora’s blade caught the pale light, each arc tracing silver through the air before crashing into the target dummy.

“You’re holding it wrong again,” Tsarra’s voice sliced through the air from behind me, her tone dripping with the kind of smugness only she could pull off. “You swing like you’re trying to chop a loaf of bread, not take down an enemy.”

I turned, sweat trickling down my face. “Funny, coming from someone who couldn’t even beat me yesterday.”

Her eyes narrowed just enough for me to know I’d struck a nerve. “That’s because I went easy on you, little Shimei.”

“Oh sure,” I scoffed, raising the blade into guard position once more. “Is that what you tell yourself at night to get some sleep?”

She stepped closer, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at her lips. “No. I remind myself I’m training with the youngest explorer in history who’s about to ruin his reputation by tripping over his own sword.”

That jab stung a bit, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of showing it. Instead, I took a deep breath, adjusting my stance. The sword felt heavier now, the red-and-black designs on the sheath pulsing faintly in my peripheral vision like a quiet heartbeat.

The next swing came out cleaner. Smoother.

Tsarra’s teasing faltered just enough for her to glance at my hands. “…Better,” she muttered, almost as if she didn’t want me to hear it.

But I did. And I wasn’t about to let her forget that she’d said it.

“Careful,” I said with a smirk, bringing the blade down for another precise cut. “At this rate, you might actually start giving me compliments.”

“In your dreams,” she shot back without missing a beat.

If only she knew how close those dreams were to becoming reality these days.

The steady rhythm of my swings began to drown out everything around me the wind, Tsarra’s sighs, even the soft creak of the old wooden post I’d been hacking away at for what felt like hours.

My arms were on fire, my shoulders ached, but I wasn’t about to give up. Each strike was another stubborn step toward mastering this skill.

“Your grip’s too tight,” a new voice chimed in, softer yet sharper than Tsarra’s.

I froze mid-swing.

From the edge of the training grounds, Liora stepped into view, her coat fluttering gently in the breeze. She had her own sword at her side, the blade glinting in the sunlight like it was eager to join the fray.

Her face was calm, but her eyes held that same intense focus she always brought to battle a look that made you feel like she could spot every flaw in your technique.

Tsarra raised an eyebrow. “Here to watch the rookie struggle?”

Liora didn’t even look her way. Instead, she walked right up to me, stopping just close enough that I could feel the shift in the air. She didn’t take the sword from my hands—she simply adjusted my fingers with the lightest touch.

“Loosen up here,” she murmured, her voice low and almost conspiratorial. “If you grip too hard, you’ll wear yourself out before the real fight even begins. Let the sword’s weight do the work for you.”

I swallowed and nodded. “Like this?”

Her gaze flicked down, then back to my face. “Better. Now—stance.”

She tapped the inside of my leg with the blunt side of her sheath, nudging me into position. “Lower your center of gravity. Keep your shoulders open. You’re not just fencing; you’re fighting for your life.”

Tsarra scoffed from the side. “Wow. I’ve been telling him that all morning, but sure, coming from you, it suddenly makes sense.”

“Difference is,” Liora replied without missing a beat, “I don’t waste time mocking him while he’s still trying to learn.”

Tsarra crossed her arms, muttering something under her breath that I couldn’t quite catch.

“Again,” Liora said.

I lifted the blade, allowing her corrections to settle into my muscle memory. This time, the swing felt different less forced, more fluid, as if the blade had a mind of its own, guiding me where it wanted to go.

It sliced through the air effortlessly, striking the dummy with a sharp thunk that sent a little jolt up my arm.

“Good,” she said, taking a step back.

For some reason, that one word carried more weight than all of Tsarra’s sarcastic remarks put together.

Liora raised a hand. “Hold on for a second.”

I lowered the blade mid-swing, panting, sweat trickling down my temple. She stepped closer, the soft clink of metal shifting at her side catching my attention.

Without saying a word, she pulled something from behind her back and extended it toward me.

At first, I thought it was just another training blade until I caught a glimpse of its shine.

It was a sword shaped like a katana, but it was anything but ordinary.

The blade was a pristine silver, glinting under the sun’s feeble light, while the handle and sheath were adorned with intricate designs swirling in red and black sharp patterns that seemed almost alive, as if they’d just been painted with fresh ink. Even the air around it felt heavier.

I reached for it, my fingers wrapping around the hilt. The moment I lifted it from her hand, the weight nearly pulled my arm down.

“This… is heavy,” I muttered, trying to find my balance.

“Not something you swing around without a reason,” Liora said, her eyes fixed on me.

Tsarra leaned against the post, arms crossed. “Let’s see if you can even lift it twice.”

I ignored her and closed my eyes, channeling mana into the blade. Blue-white energy surged through my veins, flowing into the weapon only for nothing to happen. The sword remained just as heavy, unmoving, and unyielding.

A faint frown creased my lips.

I tried again, pushing more mana in, but it felt like pouring water into a sealed jar it just wouldn’t take it. Liora’s gaze was steady on me, but her expression offered no clues.

Fine. If regular mana wouldn’t do the trick…

I took a deep breath, narrowing my focus. Deep within my chest, beneath muscle and bone, the heat stirred—the hidden core that belonged solely to me. My Kakurei the original power of my dead clan. Flames, unseen yet searing, coiled through my veins, threading into my arm and into the sword’s hilt.

The moment my Kakurei connected with it, the weight shifted. It didn’t disappear—it transformed. The heaviness lightened into something sharp and responsive, as if the sword had been waiting for this moment all along.

I tightened my grip and swung the sword. The blade sliced through the air like a flash, light as a whisper but packed with a power that resonated deep within me.

The heat was unmistakable intense, vibrant. But when I looked over at Tsarra and Liora, they remained unfazed.

To them… it was merely mana.

“Better,” Liora said, her tone steady. “Now—show me you can harness it.”

I gave a slight smirk and shifted into another stance. The sword felt like it was meant for me now.

I gave the sword another go, slashing and spinning it effortlessly now.

Each movement felt sharper, cleaner, and more instinctive than with any other weapon I’d ever wielded. This wasn’t just a sword; it was a predator cloaked in steel.

When I finally paused, Liora stepped closer. “Name it,” she urged.

Her request took me by surprise.

I found myself staring at the blade, its silver edge glinting in the sunlight, the black-and-red patterns shimmering softly like embers in the dark.

Name it… But the words I had learned in this land still felt strange and incomplete. I hadn’t fully reclaimed everything from my time beneath the Sky Palace.

A half-remembered memory flickered in my mind—a word from my past. “Yoshiinune,” I murmured.

Both of them blinked in confusion.

“…Yoshii-what?” Tsarra asked, as if I’d just thrown an insult at her mother in a language she didn’t recognize.

“It’s… an ancient term,” I explained, sheathing the blade. “It means the one who governs in the shadow of the dragons.”

Liora’s eyes narrowed slightly, not out of suspicion but more out of intrigue. Tsarra just stared at me, as if I’d conjured it from thin air.

Neither of them realized that the name was a promise to myself… and a warning to whatever awaited in that other world.

Before they could ask more, a deep horn sounded from the central tower of the city. Its call rolled over the training yard like thunder, followed by a voice amplified by magic:

“All citizens and chosen candidates, gather in the Plaza of Ascension! The announcement for those entering the Draconic Dimension will begin shortly!”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Even Tsarra’s playful banter faded, replaced by a sharp intensity.

I glanced at Yoshiinune in my hands, feeling the faint warmth still pulsing from its core. If the dragons truly ruled that dimension… then perhaps this name would mean more than just words.

Or maybe even more monsters rule but with the thought that maybe dragons are kings there