Year X771 —
Location: Rosemary Village
Age: Ren (6) | Erza (6)
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Morning arrived before Ren was ready for it.
Sunlight slipped through the thin gaps in the wooden shutters, warm and insistent, brushing his eyelids like a persistent finger.
> Wake up.
Train day.
Ren groaned quietly and rolled onto his stomach, hugging his pillow.
"…Five more minutes," he muttered to no one in particular.
The world, unfortunately, did not agree.
The door slid open with a sharp clack.
"Get up."
Ren's face squished into the pillow. "…That wasn't five minutes."
Erza stood framed by the doorway, already dressed, sword strapped to her back. Her red hair was tied high to keep it off her neck, eyes sharp despite the early hour.
"…You said tomorrow," she added.
Ren cracked one eye open. "…I was hoping tomorrow would forget."
"It didn't."
He sighed dramatically and pushed himself upright, hair sticking out in several directions.
"…You're cruel."
"…You're slow."
"That hurts."
She didn't apologize.
They washed up quickly at the well, the water cool enough to shock Ren fully awake. Cicadas were already singing, though quieter than yesterday. The sky was pale blue—clean, empty, waiting.
They walked beyond the village, past familiar paths and fields, until the houses disappeared behind tall grass and trees.
Their training spot waited for them.
A small clearing. Flat earth. Old scorch marks from past mistakes.
Ren stepped into the center and stretched his arms overhead, yawning. "…Alright. Total Concentration Breathing."
Erza nodded, sitting cross-legged across from him. "…You explain. I listen."
"…That's new."
"…Don't get used to it."
Ren smiled faintly, then closed his eyes.
> Focus.
Not power.
Not speed.
Breath.
He inhaled slowly through his nose.
The air felt heavy—summer air always did—but he welcomed it, let it sink into his lungs fully.
"…Breathing isn't just air," he said softly. "It's rhythm. Control. If you rush it, your body fights you."
Erza watched closely, eyes following the rise and fall of his chest.
"…Like sword forms," she said. "If I swing too hard, I lose balance."
"…Exactly."
Ren exhaled, long and steady.
> In.
Hold.
Out.
"Try matching me," he added.
She closed her eyes.
At first, her breathing was uneven—too sharp on the inhale, too quick on the release. Ren noticed immediately.
"…Slow," he murmured. "You're not attacking. You're listening."
Her brow furrowed.
"…It's harder than fighting," she muttered.
Ren laughed quietly. "Told you."
They sat like that for a long time.
The sun climbed higher. Sweat gathered at Ren's temples. Erza's shoulders slowly relaxed, tension easing bit by bit.
Then—
Her breath steadied.
Ren felt it before he saw it.
The air around her shifted—not visibly, not magically—but intentionally. Her posture straightened, spine aligned, like a blade set perfectly into its sheath.
> She gets it.
"…Good," Ren said.
She opened one eye. "…You felt that."
"…Yeah."
They moved on to practice.
Running—slowly this time. No bursts. No explosions of strength.
Ren set the pace deliberately low, forcing restraint.
"…This is boring," Erza said after a few minutes.
"That means you're doing it right."
"…I hate that."
They ran anyway.
When they stopped, Ren demonstrated controlled strikes—simple punches, feet planted, breath synced with motion.
"Inhale before. Exhale as you strike."
Erza mimicked him.
Her first attempt cracked the air too sharply.
"…Again," Ren said gently.
She adjusted.
Again.
Again.
Her fists grew quieter. Heavier. More precise.
She stared at her hands afterward, flexing her fingers.
"…It feels different," she admitted.
Ren nodded. "You're not forcing it. You're letting your body do what it already knows."
> She's learning fast.
Too fast, sometimes.
By midday, both of them were sprawled under a tree, utterly exhausted.
Ren lay flat on his back, arms spread, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate rhythm.
"…I can breathe like this even when I'm tired," he said.
Erza sat beside him, knees pulled up, chin resting on them.
"…I don't like being tired," she said.
"No one does."
"…But this kind is… acceptable."
Ren grinned. "High praise."
They shared water, passing the flask back and forth. Sweat dried on their skin as a breeze passed through the leaves overhead.
For a while, neither spoke.
> This is nice.
Quiet without being empty.
"…Ren," Erza said suddenly.
"…Mm?"
"…When you breathe like that… you look older."
He blinked and turned his head to look at her. "…Older?"
"…Not six."
That made him pause.
> Careful.
"…Maybe," he said lightly. "I've had to practice."
She studied him with that sharp, unsettling focus she sometimes had.
"…You don't talk about before," she said.
Ren stared up at the leaves.
"…There wasn't much to talk about."
She didn't push.
Instead, she leaned back, resting on her hands.
"…I like now," she said.
Ren smiled, small but genuine. "…Me too."
They returned to the village in the late afternoon, sore and hungry.
Ren cooked again—this time with meat. Erza watched closely, arms crossed.
"…You said rest day was yesterday."
"Training day earns protein," he declared.
"…Reasonable."
They ate quietly.
Later, as the sun dipped low, they practiced breathing again—this time sitting side by side outside their hut, lantern light flickering softly.
No instructions. No corrections.
Just shared rhythm.
In.
Out.
> Bonds aren't forged only in battle, Ren thought.
Sometimes they're built in moments like this.
When night fully settled, Erza stood and stretched.
"…Tomorrow," she said, "…we do this again."
Ren nodded. "…Yeah."
She paused, then added, quieter, "…Together."
His chest warmed.
"…Always."
The cicadas sang on.
Two six-year-olds sat beneath the stars, learning not just how to grow stronger—
—but how to breathe through the world side by side.
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End of Chapter 18 🌬️🔥