The Blade That Refused Blood - Complete
The Sword That Waited
Scene 1 of 3
Scene 1 of 3
The wooden staff felt heavy in Kaori's grip.
Sweat slicked her palms.
She swung anyway.
The air hissed as the blunt weapon cut through dust motes dancing in slanted light.
The rejected blades lined the walls like tombstones.
Broken hilts collected on shelves above.
A single blade of grass pushed through the stone floor.
Life persisting despite rejection.
Kaori straightened her posture.
Breathed in.
The dojo smelled of old stone and older shame.
She brought the staff down.
Crack.
Her form was perfect.
Her spirit was hollow.
"Again."
Her own voice echoed off living rock.
She lifted the staff.
Her arms trembled.
The dojo's shadows lengthened.
Slanted light never reached the corners.
Something shimmered on the training floor.
Kaori lowered the staff.
Frowned.
A sword lay across the stone.
No. Not a sword.
Light shaped like a sword.
Vibrating.
The air rippled around it like heat haze.
Kaori stepped closer.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
The wooden staff slipped from her fingers.
Clattered to the floor.
She did not hear it.
The light pulsed.
Warmth radiated outward.
Kaori reached out.
Her hand hovered over the hilt.
Fear crawled up her throat.
Another rejection.
Another blade turning cold.
Rusting in her grip.
She swallowed.
Touched it.
Warmth flooded her palms.
Like morning sunlight.
Spreading up her wrists.
Into her forearms.
The light solidified.
A hilt formed beneath her fingers.
She grasped it.
Her breath caught.
A voice spoke in her mind.
Not sound.
Thought.
Presence.
I am Akari.
The voice carried the weight of centuries.
First of the warriors.
Kaori's knees trembled.
She did not fall.
I refused the War God's slaughter.
Warmth pulsed through the blade.
He returns.
You are the only one pure enough to wield me.
Kaori stared at the blade.
Light ran along the edge.
Not cold.
Not rejecting.
Warm.
Accepting.
Footsteps echoed from the shadows.
Kaori turned.
Master Kenji emerged from darkness.
His face was heavy.
Burdened.
Guilt and relief warred in his aged eyes.
He bowed deeply.
The gesture was formal.
Respectful.
Painful.
"Kaori."
His voice was soft.
Slow.
Gentle as always.
She gripped the sword tighter.
"Master."
"The time has come."
He stepped closer.
Laid a hand on her shoulder.
His touch trembled.
"I should have told you."
His eyes wrinkled at the corners.
"Safety."
He paused.
Chose words carefully.
"I thought... perhaps... if I waited..."
Kaori's chest tightened.
"The blades."
She could not form the question.
"All those years."
Kenji's shoulders slumped.
Every rejection.
Every cold hilt.
Every shattered blade.
"They protected you."
His voice broke.
"Akari's spirit protected you."
Kaori looked down at the sword in her hands.
Warmth pulsed through her fingers.
She remembered the bonding ceremony.
Age twelve.
Every blade turning cold.
The laughter.
The pity.
The shame.
"Protection."
She tested the word.
Heavy on her tongue.
"You knew."
Kenji bowed his head.
"I recognized you at your first ceremony."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"When every blade rejected you."
He met her eyes.
"I knew."
Kaori's gaze drifted to the floor.
The single blade of grass.
Pushing through stone.
Persisting.
Just as she had persisted.
The shame did not vanish.
It transformed.
Not failure.
Protection.
Worthiness proven through rejection.
She looked up at Kenji.
His eyes glistened.
"Will you teach me?"
Kenji smiled.
The expression crinkled his entire face.
"There is a tale."
His fingers squeezed her shoulder.
"Perhaps... I should tell you."
Kaori gripped Akari's sword.
Warmth spread through her chest.
The dojo's shadows no longer felt like a prison.
They felt like a beginning.