Rain fell in sheets over the old dojo.
A storm had swept down from the mountains, drenching the forest and hammering the roof of the abandoned training hall where they'd taken shelter. The wooden planks were warped, moss crept up the walls, and broken tatami mats lined the floor like the bones of a forgotten warrior.
But inside, the sound of clashing bamboo echoed with purpose.
"Again!" Ishikawa barked.
Yumi stood opposite him, legs trembling, shinai gripped tightly in both hands. Her arms ached. Her palms were red and raw. But her stance held.
She charged.
Her strike was wild, furious—full of pain but no technique.
Ishikawa deflected it easily and tapped her on the shoulder with the tip of his sword.
She fell to her knees.
"You're angry," he said.
Yumi glared up at him. "You said to attack!"
"I said learn. Not lash out."
She clenched her jaw. "You won't even tell me the truth. I'm dreaming about fire and seals and a woman who keeps calling me 'child'—and you act like it's nothing!"
"It's not nothing," Ishikawa said, his voice low.
"Then what am I?!"
Rain pelted the roof. For a moment, Ishikawa didn't answer. Then he stepped forward, knelt in front of her, and extended his hand.
"You're someone who deserves to know how to defend herself. That's all that matters right now."
She took his hand, slowly.
---
Asaki watched from the rafters, arms folded, one eye narrowed.
"He's teaching her the way he was taught," Sayaka murmured beside her. "Tough love. Bruises first, answers later."
Asaki shrugged. "Better that than silence. She's not a normal child. Not anymore."
"She never was," Sayaka whispered. "You don't dream of the seal by accident. That technique—the Phoenix Blood—it doesn't manifest unless…"
"…Unless it's passed down in blood."
Sayaka nodded.
They both glanced down at the faint red light glowing in Yumi's hand as she gripped the shinai again.
---
Later that night, as Yumi wrapped her bandaged palms, she noticed the fire flickering strangely. The shadows on the wall danced—then stilled.
"Mother…?" she whispered.
A heat rose in her chest.
The flames licked higher.
And a voice whispered from inside them.
"He will come for you."
Yumi stood slowly, eyes wide.
The fire turned crimson, then blue.
And in it, for just a breath, she saw a man—tall, with silver hair and a tiger-marked mask. His eyes glowed with quiet, unreadable fury.
Then the fire collapsed inward.
Ash fell.
---
Outside, Ishikawa stood in the rain, staring up at the dark sky. The air smelled like smoke.
"She's dreaming again," he muttered.
Asaki approached. "You think Shun is connected?"
"I think the seal's reacting. To her. To me. To everything coming together."
He closed his eyes.
"She's not ready."
"You weren't either."
"I wasn't a child," he snapped.
"No," Asaki said calmly, "you were a weapon pretending to be a man."
He turned sharply to face her. But there was no anger in her eyes—only quiet defiance.
"She deserves more than that," she said. "If she's your daughter… you owe her more than just training."
"I owe her survival."
"Then teach her how to live, not just how to fight."
---
The next day, Ishikawa laid two blades before Yumi.
One was wooden. Balanced. Meant for practice.
The other was short, curved—a real steel wakizashi with a dragon engraved into the guard.
"Pick," he said.
Yumi looked between them.
"If I choose the real one… what does that mean?"
"That you're done pretending to be a child."
Yumi reached forward and picked up the steel blade.
Its weight felt… right.
Not like a stranger's sword.
Like something she'd carried before.
"Then I'm done pretending," she whispered.
---
Asaki watched them train from a distance. The way Yumi moved—each strike tighter than the last, her footwork instinctual, not taught—sent shivers down her spine.
"She's remembering," Sayaka said softly. "Not learning. Remembering."
Asaki frowned. "That would mean… she was trained before. But how? She would've been a baby when—"
She stopped.
Sayaka nodded grimly. "Not if she was taken in. Raised… somewhere hidden. Or by someone who knew what she was."
"Someone trying to protect her."
"Or use her."
---
That night, Yumi asked Ishikawa the question that had been gnawing at her soul.
"Did you love her?"
He paused. Then nodded.
"With everything I had."
"Then why did she die alone?"
He flinched.
"I was too late. The night she died… I was fighting a hundred men. I thought if I could reach her in time…"
He looked down.
"But when I found her, there was nothing left but fire. And blood."
Yumi stared at him.
"Was I there?"
He looked up, eyes full of grief. "…I don't know."
---
In a hidden room at the edge of Kyoto, Shun Takamura sat on a wooden bench.
A black scroll lay unfurled before him, marked in red ink.
On it were six names.
All crossed out.
All dead.
Except one.
Ishikawa.
He closed the scroll and sheathed the blade beside him—a long white katana that shimmered even in shadow.
"The seal must never be broken," he whispered.
Then he stood.
---
Back at the dojo, as lightning cracked overhead, Yumi's dream returned.
She stood in a burning temple.
Screams filled the air.
A woman reached for her—long black hair, blood on her kimono.
"Run!" she cried. "He's coming!"
A shadow fell over them.
Then the silver-eyed man stepped forward.
"The Blood Pact God cannot live," he said.
Yumi awoke gasping, the mark on her chest glowing crimson.
And for the first time…
A flame rose in her eyes.
---
To be continued