Phase One:
Morning came.
No bells. No announcements. No gathering of students.
Tobi stood barefoot on the cold stone of the inner yard, sleeves rolled up, breath visible in the early air. The wooden sword lay in front of him exactly where Yanshi had left it the night before.
Untouched.
Yanshi arrived as the sun cleared the rooftops.
"You didn't move it," he said.
Tobi shook his head. "You told me not to."
Yanshi nodded once. "Good. Phase One begins before weapons."
He walked a slow circle around Tobi, footsteps measured, eyes sharp. "Most swordsmen think training starts with the blade. They're wrong. It starts with how you exist when nothing is happening."
Tobi frowned slightly. "That sounds… vague."
"It's supposed to," Yanshi replied. "If you understand it immediately, it's useless."
He stopped in front of Tobi.
"Stand."
"I am standing."
"No," Yanshi corrected. "Stand without preparing to move."
Tobi stiffened instinctively—then relaxed a fraction.
Silence stretched.
Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
At first, it felt easy. Almost boring. Tobi's thoughts drifted—to Ren, to Sumi, to the sword-space that still lingered like a half-remembered dream.
"Your breathing changed," Yanshi said calmly.
Tobi snapped back to the present. "What?"
"You leaned forward half a breath ago," Yanshi continued. "You were imagining movement."
"I didn't—"
"You did," Yanshi said. "And that's the problem."
He tapped Tobi's chest lightly with two fingers. "Your body moves before you decide. That's fear."
Tobi clenched his jaw and steadied himself.
They resumed.
Minutes turned heavy.
His legs began to burn—not from exertion, but from restraint. Every muscle wanted to do something. Even blinking felt loud.
A drop of sweat slid down his temple.
"Don't wipe it," Yanshi said without looking.
Tobi resisted the urge, jaw tight.
This time, it was Yanshi who moved—stepping suddenly into Tobi's space, close enough that Tobi could feel his presence like pressure.
"Still," Yanshi said.
Tobi's heart thudded.
His instincts screamed.
Run. Guard. React.
He did none of it.
The moment stretched—and then Yanshi stepped back.
"…Good," he said quietly.
Tobi exhaled shakily. "That's training?"
"That's the foundation," Yanshi replied. "Light reacts. Darkness reacts. Balance waits."
They continued until Tobi's legs gave out.
He hit the stone hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
Yanshi didn't help him up.
"Again," he said.
Tobi pushed himself up with shaking arms.
Again.
By midday, Tobi's vision blurred from exhaustion—not physical alone, but mental. Every failure felt heavier than the last.
"Why does this matter?" Tobi asked between breaths. "I've fought. I've survived."
Yanshi finally answered without deflection.
"Because when the darkness awakens," he said, "it will not ask whether you are tired. And if you cannot stand still without fear—"
He placed a foot lightly on the wooden sword.
"—You will mistake power for control."
That night, Tobi collapsed onto the floor of his room, muscles screaming.
Yet when he closed his eyes—
No sword-space appeared.
No dragon.
Just silence.
And in that silence, something inside him stopped shaking.
Not strong.
Not awake.
But steady.
Somewhere far away, unseen eyes watched with interest.
And for the first time, the path forward did not feel like a charge into chaos—
—but a long, deliberate walk into fire.