Pov Anna
The training hall felt older than fear.
Its wooden beams were darkened with age, carved with symbols worn smooth by time and failure. The floor bore the scars of past lessons—deep grooves from blades, faint scorch marks, cracks repaired and reopened again. This wasn't a place meant for comfort. It was a place meant to teach consequences.
Kiyoshi stood near the center, hands folded inside his sleeves, calm as still water. He didn't rush me. He never did.
"You said you wanted to stand," he said softly. "Before power, before weapons—standing begins with intent."
I exhaled slowly, grounding myself. My heart was steady now, not racing like it had the night before. The ache was still there, but it was quieter. Manageable.
Weapons lined the far wall.
Too many.
Swords gleamed faintly in the low light—some elegant, some brutal. Spears stood tall and disciplined. Staffs leaned quietly, like patient teachers waiting to strike your knuckles for mistakes. Every one of them carried a presence that pressed against my skin.
I didn't step closer.
"I don't want to fight up close," I said.
Kiyoshi nodded. "Why?"
I hesitated, then answered honestly. "Because I've spent my life trying to save people's bodies. I don't trust myself with something that close."
His gaze softened. "Distance, then."
I scanned the wall again, my eyes landing on the bows—simple ones, compound ones, elegant longbows carved with designs I didn't recognize.
"My father," I said suddenly, surprised by how easily the words came, "was an excellent shot."
Kiyoshi turned fully toward me.
"He used to say aim wasn't about strength," I continued. "He said it was about belief. He believed I could do it—even when I didn't."
I swallowed. "So… I choose archery."
Kiyoshi inclined his head. "Then archery it is."
He handed me a practice bow—not enchanted, not forgiving. Just wood, string, and expectation.
We moved to the far end of the hall where a series of straw targets stood at varying distances.
"Form first," Kiyoshi said. "Results later."
I nocked the arrow, raised the bow, adjusted my stance like he showed me.
Released.
The arrow flew wide—so wide it missed the target completely and struck the wall with a dull thunk.
I stared. "…That one was warming up."
Kiyoshi nodded solemnly. "It tried."
Second attempt.
Miss.
Not even close.
"That one," I said, "was shy."
"Arrows are not shy," Kiyoshi replied. "They are honest."
Third attempt.
Miss again. This one skimmed the edge of the target and kept going like it had better plans.
I lowered the bow slowly. "Is it supposed to hate me?"
"No," he said gently. "It mirrors you."
That was uncalled for.
Fourth attempt.
Miss.
This time the arrow hit the floor halfway there, sliding pathetically before coming to a stop.
I stared at it. "It gave up."
Kiyoshi walked over, retrieved the arrow, and handed it back to me. "So did you. Briefly."
I clenched my jaw, reset my stance.
Focus. Breathe. Distance, not doubt.
I raised the bow again.
The door to the hall slid open.
Shou Feng walked in.
And that—
That was when everything went wrong.
I released.
The arrow flew.
Straight.
Perfectly straight.
Directly at Shou Feng's chest.
Time fractured.
His black eyes locked onto the incoming arrow. For half a heartbeat, I thought he might catch it. Or stop it. Or disintegrate it with pure godly irritation.
Instead—
He slammed the door shut with reflexes honed by centuries of survival.
THUNK.
The arrow buried itself deep into the wood, vibrating violently.
Silence fell over the hall.
I froze.
Kiyoshi froze.
The door slowly slid open again—just a crack.
One black eye stared through.
"…I see," Shou Feng said slowly, "that healing now involves violence."
"I WAS AIMING AT THE TARGET," I shouted.
He glanced down at the arrow. Then back at me.
"Bold," he said. "Confident. Incorrect."
Kiyoshi cleared his throat. "This is training."
Shou Feng's gaze slid to him. "Why does training look like an execution attempt."
"I missed four times," I snapped. "Statistically, you were unlucky."
He stared. "You are using numbers against me."
"I learned it from you gods," I shot back.
He pushed the door open a little more, inspecting the arrow like it personally offended him.
"I have survived wars," Shou Feng said. "I have been sealed, cursed, betrayed by allies and enemies alike."
He tapped the arrow once.
"I refuse to be taken out by a human having a bad day."
Kiyoshi nodded thoughtfully. "She is improving."
Shou Feng looked at him. "She aimed at my soul."
"I aimed at wood!" I protested.
"You aimed at me holding wood," he corrected.
He sighed deeply, rubbing his temple. "I insulted her. I expected consequences. I did not expect projectiles."
The door shut again.
Then reopened.
"If you are going to continue," he added, "announce it. Or miss better."
I crossed my arms. "Don't walk into training halls unannounced."
"I am a god," he snapped.
"And I'm armed now," I replied.
Silence.
Then—something like a laugh. Very quiet. Very annoyed.
The door slid shut.
Footsteps retreated.
I stood there, heart hammering, bow still raised.
Kiyoshi turned to me. "Again."
I blinked. "What if he comes back?"
"Then," Kiyoshi said serenely, "aim slightly lower."
I lifted the bow again, unable to stop smiling.
This time, I focused.
And somewhere behind that door, I was certain Shou Feng paused—
Just in case.
To be continue..