Chapter 34 — You Fight Like a Cornered Hare

Ace’s wooden sword whips through the air in a series of sharp, controlled strikes, each one landing with precision against the log. The paper human face is already half split from her relentless training, its angry expression now more crumpled than menacing.

She doesn’t pause between swings she barely even breathes hard. Sweat beads at her temples and drips down her neck as she adjusts her grip on the practice weapon mid-motion. "Too slow," she mutters to herself before pivoting into another attack, this time feinting left before slashing right with brutal efficiency.
After a few more minutes of intense, almost hypnotic combat, Ace steps back, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

She lowers the practice sword and regards the broken, paper human face stuck to the log. With a smirk, she rips it off and crumples it further before tossing it into a nearby bin.

The sunlight streams in through the window, casting a soft glow around the room as Ace turns and catches a glimpse of the silver pendant sitting on her desk. The kitsune ears and heart-shaped symbol glint in the light as an ever-present memento. She walks over to the desk, running a thumb over the pendant with surprising gentleness before picking it up.

She stares at it for a moment, eyes locked onto the symbol as if lost in thought. Slowly, she traces the shape of the kitsune's ears, as she calls back to her younger version.

Ace now stands in a different room, face pinched in concentration as she lunges with her wooden sword. An older figure, presumably her mentor, easily sidesteps her swing and retaliates with a quick strike of their own. Young Ace staggers back from the impact, face flushed with anger and pain as much as from exhaustion.

The mentor shakes their head, expression stern as they stand in a neutral stance. "Never leave yourself open like that. Come on, again."

Young Ace's hands tremble around her wooden sword, knuckles scraped raw from previous failures. The air is thick with the scent of pine resin and sweat her mentor’s training grounds are unforgiving.
"You’re sloppy," the mentor chides, "Like a fox who forgot how to hunt."

Ace grits her teeth and charges again—this time with more precision. But her mentor parries effortlessly, tapping the flat of their blade against her ribs hard enough to bruise. "Again."

Young Ace hits the ground hard, her face scraping against the rough-hewn floor. She pushes herself up and spits out a mouthful of dust, glaring at the mentor who stands by idly. The older figure makes a 'get up' gesture.  

"Weak," the mentor sneers, crossing their arms, "Not even a cub acts that pathetic." 

Young Ace glares back, knuckles clenched around her practice sword. That one word—'weak'—sends a wave of white-hot anger rushing through her. She lunges again and swings wildly.
The mentor nimbly dodges Ace's attacks with ease, looking more like a dance than a fight. Then, the mentor grabs a handful of Young Ace's long, silken hair and pulls.

"Long hair makes you slow," the mentor snarls, not bothering to avoid yanking hard. Young Ace gasps in pain, stumbling from the grip but not breaking it. "You're a kit, not some damn princess."

The little Ace tries to break free but the grip only tightens, making her wince from the pain. "Let go!" she snaps, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice.

The mentor's only response is to scoff and tighten their grip even more, yanking her silver hair even harder. "Stop whining, kid." They say coldly, "You’re acting like a spoiled brat."

Finally, Ace sags, her voice cracking slightly as she speaks.
"Okay, I get it," she grits, eyes downcast, "Long hair is a bad idea... Can you let go now? Please?"
The mentor considers her for a moment before begrudgingly slackening their hold. They cross their arms again once free, expression unreadable.

Ace straightens up awkwardly, her hands working feverishly to smooth out her now-ruffled hair. She looks up at her mentor—a dark Ram demi-human standing at least 6'2 feet with strong, corded muscles visible beneath her loose garments. Her hair is short, framing her face in a severe, almost hawk-like manner. She's built like the perfect warrior, despite her age or the faint scars snaking across her skin.

Her clothing consists of a sleeveless shirt with reinforced armor plating and a pair of sturdy black pants.

Young Ace's fingers tangle in her silver hair, trying to smooth it back into place as she glares up at the towering figure of her mentor. The ram-woman looms over her like a storm cloud—every scar, every corded muscle speaking of battles won through sheer brutality.

"You fight like a cornered hare," the ram-woman growls, "Not even close to being my student."

Ace swallows hard but lifts her chin defiantly despite how much taller the warrior is, and despite knowing full well that resisting will only earn more bruises. "Then tell me what I'm doing wrong," she snaps back.

The ram-woman's expression hardens as she points at Young Ace's silver necklace, hanging like a tiny silver beacon against the young girl's chest. A spark of understanding lights in her dark eyes before she speaks.  

"That necklace is infused with mana," she states, her voice low. "Your soul is meant for the wild energy of the auroras—the auroral energy contained within them is unlike anything mana can provide."

Young Ace blinks in confusion, a hand moving to clutch her necklace. "But I, uh—what's the difference?" she dares to ask.
The ram-woman's lip curls in a snarl, her massive frame casting a shadow over Ace as she leans down slightly—close enough for the younger girl to see every scar, every battle-hardened line of her face.

"The difference," she growls, "is that you're wasting your potential. That necklace siphons mana like some petty thief at an auction."

She straightens up and gestures sharply toward Ace’s chest. "Auroral Energy flows through you—wild, untamed. It's meant to burn bright like the auroras themselves! But instead?" Her nose wrinkles in disgust. "You let this cheap trinket strangle it into submission."

Ace flinches but tightens her grip on the pendant defiantly. "It was my mother’s..."

The ram-woman expression softens at Ace's statement. She kneels to Ace's level and ruffles her hair affectionately."Listen, Kiddo. You want to save your parents and others, right?"

She pauses for a second before proceeding, "There's a reason your Auroral Energy is red." Her black eyes flicker down to Ace’s chest again—where that necklace still clings.  

"Your aura burns like embers—same as your core. Anger and strength and stubbornness... all of it screaming for what was stolen from you."

Ace stiffens at that, fingers twitching against the pendant before she snaps back, "You don't know anything about my parents or my village!"  

The ram-woman doesn’t flinch."I know enough," she says flatly. "That trinket's choking you more than any human ever did."

That line repeated in Ace's head as she sighed and slowly moved away from the desk, running a hand over the silver pendant one last time. The memories it holds are both painful and precious—a tangible connection to someone long gone. So, instead of letting her own emotions get the better of her like the little version of herself, she takes a deep breath, places the necklace back into a drawer with care.

Then she exhales sharply through her nose and turns away from the desk, striding toward the window where sunlight spills across the floorboards. Outside, birds chirp obliviously—life moving on without hesitation.

"Tch." A small smirk tugs at Ace’s lips despite herself. "Still better than being stuck with Erebus's theatrics"

Then, a sudden disturbance in the peace occurred, making Ace whirling around so fast she nearly stumbles, her hand instinctively flying to the hilt of her katana—only for Erebus to be standing right there, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been there all along. His dark eyes glint with amusement.

"You said something?" he repeats, voice smooth as silk. "About my theatrics?"  

Ace’s fingers twitch around her sword grip—half from reflexive irritation, half from how effortlessly he slipped into existence again "I swear," she mutters through gritted teeth, "you do this just to annoy me."

She grumbles, straightening up. 

"Sneak up on me one more time and I'm throwing you through a wall. Just because you can teleport like some kind of show-off—" She bites off the rest of her words and rolls her eyes with a sigh. "Forget it. What is it this time?"

Erebus lifts an eyebrow, unbothered by Ace’s threat—he's well aware of her temper and knows she won't actually make good on it. He gives her a smug smile and shrugs lazily, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and the infuriatingly casual air he can pull off with ease. "My Avian friend tells me there are humans approaching the village," he comments, voice as flat as always. 

Ace's ears twitch irritably at the news—she hates the mere thought of intruders in her territory. "How many?" She asks.

Erebus’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smirk—like he expected nothing less. "Twenty. Give or take," he says with an almost bored shrug, "Armed to the teeth and marching like they own the place." 

Ace's fingers twitch toward her katana on instinct. She doesn’t need to ask what kind of humans would be dumb enough to waltz up in force.