The next day, Urokodaki woke me earlier than usual.
The sun had barely risen, and the cold was so dense the mist seemed to crawl along the ground.
He didn't say anything at first. He simply led me to the center of the house's porch, where a black box rested, covered by a thin layer of frost.
He knelt before it and, with steady hands, slowly lifted the lid.
Inside were two sheathed swords.
They were simpler than I expected. The wood of the scabbards was worn, the fabric on the hilts slightly frayed, and the metal's shine had dulled over time.
But there was something in them. An invisible weight.
— "These are the katanas you'll train with," said Urokodaki, his voice muffled by the mask.
— "They're not new, and their edge is a bit dull. But they're made of special ore. Nichirin blades. They're not yours… but I'll lend them to you for the Final Selection."
My eyes locked onto the swords.
— "Final Selection? What's that?" I asked.
Urokodaki didn't hesitate.
— "It's a test. A ritual. Everyone who wishes to become a demon slayer must pass it. It will be held at the beginning of next month. You don't have much time… so train with everything you've got. For that, you'll need these swords. Only with them can you kill an oni. But if you break them..."
The pause was brief, but it felt like a colder wind slicing from the inside.
— "…don't come back," he finished, with the calm of someone who isn't threatening—just stating a fact.
— "Th-thank you, Master Urokodaki… I promise I'll take good care of them," I replied, stammering.
He nodded silently, closing the box carefully.
From that day on, every step I took seemed to carry a different sound.
As if the snow had started to listen more carefully to my weight.
---
As the days passed, I threw myself into training more than ever before.
My body began to mold itself, my muscles hardened. My arms no longer trembled when holding the swords.
The pain in my knees and shoulders became familiar — and, over time, almost comforting.
My "dance" was no longer just something beautiful to watch.
Now, it was useful. Lethal. Alive.
One day, Urokodaki asked if I had named my style.
I didn't know that was something I needed to do.
He was the one who suggested the name, with his muffled and steady voice:
— "Breath of Snow."
— "It's what your body expresses, even if you don't know it yet."
Since then, I began to train with that in mind.
And little by little, the forms started to take shape on their own, like unique snowflakes in the middle of a blizzard.
They weren't perfect yet, but they gave me direction.
That late afternoon, while watching the cut bamboo reflect the pale sun, I sat with my swords on my knees and whispered their names quietly, engraving each one into myself.
---
The first was the most instinctive.
The simplest. The one born from the nights I danced alone beneath the snow.
First Form: Snow Blossom
A defensive spin around the body with both swords, creating a circle of soft slashes to ward off nearby enemies.
The surrounding snow rises with the movement, like white petals swirling in the wind.
Use: Against multiple enemies or to deflect simultaneous attacks.
---
The second form came during a night when I ran down the mountain.
My feet touched the ground like wind, and my mind struck before my arm.
Second Form: White Wind
A fast dash with both swords in a crossed slash, performed with the body low.
The movement is nearly invisible, and the sound of the strike is muffled by the cold.
Use: Approach move and breaking through defenses.
---
The third appeared during sparring sessions with Urokodaki.
When I realized that if I stopped for just a moment, the enemy would hesitate.
Third Form: Frozen Interval
An almost complete pause in movement, followed by multiple slashes from unexpected angles.
It mimics the moment snow hangs in the air… before falling.
Use: To confuse fast enemies using pauses and irregular rhythm.
---
The fourth came on a morning when my body was sore and my mind numb.
But as I moved the swords, I noticed I could use them like striking a drum.
Fourth Form: Avalanche Melody
A rhythmic sequence of alternating attacks between the swords, starting slowly and accelerating steadily.
The sound of the blades through the air resembles the distant echo of an oncoming avalanche.
Use: To apply pressure and break the enemy's guard.
---
The fifth was the last.
And the strangest of them all.
It didn't feel like a strike.
It felt… like an execution.
Fifth Form: Silent Snow
Remain still, control your breathing, and in the exact moment, unleash a nearly imperceptible and lightning-fast slash to the enemy's neck.
Like snow falling without a sound.
Use: A finishing blow against exhausted or unsuspecting foes.
The calmest. The most dangerous.
---
I returned inside with the list engraved in my mind.
Urokodaki was sitting at the table. He looked at me for a few seconds and said:
— "These forms… they're yours.
They don't need to look like anyone else's.
The Breath of Snow is made for you."
I bowed slightly, in silence.
That night, after dinner, I sat alone by the lake in the clearing, with the swords resting on my lap and the fox mask in my hands.
I stared at my reflection in the water.
Two years had passed since I left my family behind — if I can even call them that.
My light blue hair had grown to my jawline. I hadn't cut it once since arriving at Urokodaki's house. And I didn't plan to.
I kind of liked the look.
The wind brushing against my face was gentle, but it carried a message.
The month was ending.
Final Selection was drawing near.
And even if I said I was ready…
Some part of me knew that nothing could ever truly prepare me.