The heaviness of a blade

The garden behind Darius’s house was larger than it looked from the back door, obscured from the street by large brick walls. At first glance it was just another walled plot where someone had tried and failed to keep an fruit tree alive. A large crooked tree leaned at the edge, bark peeling, branches heavy with fruit that had fallen to rot in the mud. Crows had gotten to the apples, tearing them open until only brown husks clung to stems. The stump in the centre sat like a scar, flat black wood cracked with fungus.

The walls loomed high and close, brick softened with moss. Here and there, gaps let thin weeds creep through, but the yard was hidden, private, the noise of the city muffled. The air smelled sharp, iron-thick before rain. A storm swelled somewhere distant, a low growl rolling through the clouds.

Ren adjusted the gauntlet on his left arm. The weight of it never sat right, dragging at his shoulder, making the straight sword in his other hand feel clumsy. He glanced at the walls where Alice would’ve stood, crossbow raised, already teasing them for taking so long. His chest clenched at the empty space.

Darius clapped once, sharp enough to startle the crows. “Weapons up. You’re not here to admire the view.”He wore no armour. His coat sleeves were rolled, ribs bound tight beneath linen. A training club rested on his shoulder, shorter than Hibiki’s weapon, scarred with notches from old drills. His eye swept over them like he was weighing how long they’d last.

Hibiki already had his morning star out, chain clinking, eyes too wild. He looked like he wanted to split the wall before he split an opponent. “Try me first,” Hibiki muttered, lifting the weapon high. Darius only raised a brow. “You’ll get me when you stop swinging like a drunk. Start with balance.”Hibiki replied clearly annoyed at darius’ bossing tone “I don’t need balance.” Darius was quick with a retort “You don’t need a brain either, but it’s useful. Pair with Ren. Go.” Ren blinked. “Me?” He grunted “Yes, you. Sword out, shield up. And don’t die.” Hibiki smirked, vicious.

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy.” They met in the centre, boots sinking in mud. Hibiki swung first, the iron head screaming through air. Ren barely caught it with the gauntlet; the impact jarred his bones, sent him staggering back three steps. “Your arms will break before the gauntlet does,” Darius called. “So learn which one’s worth trusting.” His sword nearly slipped from his hand. “Plant your feet,” Darius barked. “Balance comes from the ground. Move like the wind and you’ll break just as easy.”

Ren tightened his stance, boots braced, sword lifted again. Hibiki circled, chain rattling, then swung low this time. Ren blocked with the gauntlet, sparks spitting. He countered with a downward slash, blade heavy, driving with his shoulder.The clash rang across the yard, sharp enough that the crows startled into flight. The crows did not return. Their cries echoed faintly above the walls, circling wider, as if the yard itself had gained a gravity they wanted no part of. Mud clung heavier to their boots with every strike, the ground sucking at them, dragging their weight down. The damp smell of earth and rust turned stronger with each blow, until it seemed the weapons were pulling something old out of the soil rather than grinding against each other.

Darius grunted approval. “Better. Don’t just swing—drop weight with intent. Make the sword heavy.” Ren tried again, another downward strike. His arms screamed with effort, but the blade landed with more force, driving Hibiki back a step. The sound of steel on iron thrummed in Ren’s bones. Hibiki’s eyes widened. He snarled and shoved forward, pouring strength into the next blow. The weapons met with a crack so loud it rattled the windows of the house. For a moment the air itself seemed to hum, a tremor vibrating up through their boots.

Both froze. Darius’s good eye narrowed. “There. You feel that?” Ren nodded shakily, still braced against Hibiki’s weight. Hibiki blinked at the weapon like it had betrayed him. “What the hell—?” “That noise,” Darius said, stepping closer, tapping Hibiki’s shoulder with his club. “That’s yours. I told you—you nearly broke my windows last night when you lost control. Learn it. Don’t drown in it.” Hibiki scowled, but he swung again, slower this time. The hum returned, faint, like something alive under the strike. Ren shivered at the vibration running through his bones.

They sparred until sweat covered their skin. Darius shouted corrections between every clash: “Ren, stop leading with your wrist! Let the gauntlet take the brunt.” “Hibiki, chain shorter! You’re swinging wide like a farmer threshing wheat.” “Again. Again. Again.” The yard echoed with steel on iron, over and over until their arms shook, until mud streaked their boots and their chests heaved like bellows. Finally Darius called a halt, voice gravel-rough. “Swap. Ren, with Miyako. Hibiki, drills.”

Hibiki muttered but stepped aside, pacing to the stump, swinging the morning star again and again at the rotted wood. Each hit landed with a dull thump, the hum sometimes there, sometimes not. He gritted his teeth, forcing it, chasing the vibration until sweat soaked his collar. Ren wiped his sword clean and turned as Miyako approached. Knives glinted in both hands, her cloak discarded, sleeves rolled. Her eyes were sharp, merciless. “Don’t hold back,” she said. Ren barely had time to nod before she lunged. Her knives darted like silver fangs. He blocked with the gauntlet, sparks spitting, staggered back under the rapid strikes. “Too slow,” she snapped. Her movements had no hesitation; she fought like someone who had already measured the space between life and death and found it wanting. She spun low, hooked her boot behind his, and sent him stumbling. Her blade kissed his sleeve before she drew back. “You’ll remember better when you bleed.”

Ren hissed, sleeve torn, shallow cut burning. He tightened his grip on the sword and forced himself forward. Their blades rang sharp, his heavy strikes against her quick cuts. She dodged, sidestepped, punished every misstep with a slash across cloth or a jab to his ribs. “Eyes up! Feet steady! Don’t chase me—make me come to you!” For some reason combat just came natural to her and she wasnt afraid to show it. Her voice was cruel but it drilled into him. He adjusted, planted his boots deeper, swung downward with all his weight.

Darius’s voice came from the wall, dry, without praise. “Don’t let her footwork fool you. She’s faster than you’ll ever be, but speed has cracks. Make her block, and you’ll see them.” Ren’s breath burned in his throat. He tried to keep his boots planted the way Darius drilled, tried to trust the weight of the sword. Miyako’s knives twitched, ready to punish the smallest slip, but for once she had yielded ground.

While they fought, Hibiki growled, swinging harder at the stump. The hum of his weapon cracked louder, shaking loose dust from the wall. He clenched his teeth, veins bulging in his neck. “Come on… come on!” The next swing landed too close. The vibration ripped through the air like a struck bell. Ren’s sword jarred, and his grip faltered. He stumbled, and Miyako almost drove a knife past his guard. “Stop!” she hissed, turning on Hibiki. “You’ll get him killed!”

Hibiki rounded on her, chest heaving. “Better him than Alice!” The words cut like a blade. Ren froze, eyes full of shock. Miyako’s eyes narrowed. “Say that again.” Hibiki roared, swinging the club down into the mud hard enough to spray dirt. “I’m useless if I can’t protect anyone! I’m useless if I can’t—if I can’t stop it happening again!” His voice broke into a snarl. “What good am I if I can’t save her?” The yard went silent except for the storm, thunder growling closer. Rain began to fall, pattering against the walls, soaking into the mud at their boots. Ren’s hand shook around his sword hilt. His throat burned with guilt he couldn’t speak.

Darius finally broke the silence. “Enough.” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’re bleeding energy over nothing right now. If you want to respect her, live long enough to take back what was stolen.” Hibiki’s chest heaved, eyes wild. Then, slowly, he dropped to his knees, weapon clattering into the mud. He pressed his hands over his face. Training didn’t stop. Darius forced them through more drills, harsher now, as rain came heavier.

Hibiki was ordered to strike in rhythm—slow, deliberate, holding the hum at bay instead of chasing it. Every miss earned him a crack across the back from Darius’s club. Ren drilled footwork—balance with the gauntlet, steadying his weight, repeating the same slash until his shoulders screamed. Darius shoved him each time he faltered, growling: “The sword’s not heavy enough until you mean it.”

Miyako drilled them in knife work—feints, off-hand throws, low strikes at knees. She cut Ren shallow on purpose, made Hibiki bleed along his forearm, and called it a lesson. Her cruelty was cold, efficient. When they staggered, Darius sparred her himself. Their duel was brutal—her knives a blur, his club a shield and lever. She pushed him, forced him to dodge, to yield ground. His coat tore under her blade, but he never struck back with killing force. He only smiled grimly when she landed a cut. “You’d gut me if I let you,” he said. “I would,” she replied. “And that’s why you’ll outlive me.”

By the time night came, the yard was a mire of churned mud and rotting apples. Rain hammered the brick walls, drumming like a war-song. The four of them collapsed under the lean-to, bruised, bleeding, soaked through. Ren’s arms trembled too much to hold the sword. Hibiki’s hands shook around his morning star. Miyako sat stiff, knives beside her, shoulders heaving. Darius leaned against the wall, bandages wet, eye dark with exhaustion. The storm rolled over them, thunder cracking. Miyako spoke first, voice low but steady. “We’re not ready.” Her eyes flicked to the empty wall where Alice should’ve stood. “But we’ll never be.”

No one answered. The rain drowned everything else.