Morning was still on its way, but its shade had begun to show.
The sky was no longer black, nor yet blue—only a pale, uncertain grey, as though dawn itself were hesitating. Cold clung to the stones beneath my feet, seeping through my soles, settling into my bones. I stood there longer than necessary, staring into nothing, trying to decide whether Miss Li Hua had truly meant what she said.
A spar.
With Heiwa.
I told myself it could not be serious. That it was a provocation. A warning dressed as indulgence. Yet the longer I stood there, the more the weight of it pressed into me, undeniable.
I could not bring myself to seek Heiwa out.
The silence grew noisy—filled with thoughts I did not want to finish.
"What are you doing?"
The voice cut cleanly through my spiralling.
I turned. Dōngzhi stood behind me, arms folded, her expression unreadable. Something twisted sharply in my chest at the sight of her.
"Well," she said, stepping closer until she stood beside me, "if you want to prove something so badly, then do."
"I just want to be of aid," I replied. My throat was dry, the words scraping their way out like sand against glass.
She sighed, unimpressed. "You could help me by keeping yourself away from danger."
She reached out and tugged lightly at my ear—not hard, but firm enough to sting. Familiar. Almost affectionate.
After a moment, she added, more quietly, "Heiwa agreed. She'll spar with you."
My eyes widened. My chest felt too tight, as though something inside me was trying to break free all at once.
It was not long after that we gathered in the courtyard.
The air was sharp with cold, the gravel underfoot uneven and unforgiving. Himitsu stood to one side, calm as ever. Li Hua was there too—composed, distant, watching as though this were a lesson already decided. Beside her stood a member of the Church, silent, observing.
Heiwa faced me from across the courtyard.
She held a bo staff loosely, but I knew better than to mistake that for ease. I stood opposite her with my firearm in hand, its weight unfamiliar despite all my practice. The Regent had said it was acceptable. That I could use whatever I wished.
That thought alone made my stomach churn.
Fear prickled under my skin. Or irritation. Or something uglier that refused to name itself.
Almost without thinking, I drew my tanto as well. The blade felt honest in my grip—short, yes, but not helpless. Not ornamental.
My feet sank slightly into the gravel as I planted them, my fingers tightening around metal and wood alike. My heartbeat roared in my ears, loud enough to drown out reason.
Heiwa met my gaze steadily.
"If hurting you is the only way to stop you from harming yourself," she said, voice calm and unwavering, "then I will gladly knock you down."
I swallowed and tightened my grip.
The sound of a gong rang out—polite, but firm.
"Begin," Himitsu said.
I raised my gun.
Not with skill. Not with certainty.
With fear.
Heiwa moved first.
She hurled her bo staff forward like a spear—not at me, but past me—and in the same breath brought her palms together and exhaled sharply. The air answered her.
Mist exploded outward, thick and blinding, swallowing the courtyard whole. Cold moisture clung to my face, my lashes, my breath.
"Bang!"
The gunshot cracked through the fog.
Then—thud—the dull, punishing sound of wood striking flesh.
I screamed as I fell, the gravel biting into my side.
"Bang!" Another shot—wild, unfocused—fired into nothing.
I could see nothing. Hear nothing but my own breath and the blood rushing in my ears.
"Bang!"
Still nothing.
Panic took hold, sharp and absolute. Tears spilled before I could stop them. My body curled in on itself instinctively, trying to disappear.
A sigh cut through the fog.
"Hm. That's enough."
The mist was torn away by a sudden breeze, the air clearing as though it had never been touched.
I lay on the gravel, curled in on myself, shaking. My hands were empty. My chest hurt. My face was wet with tears I hadn't chosen.
Heiwa stood off to the side, outside the marked space, her staff grounded. She bit her lip, her gaze fixed on me—not triumphant. Not cold.
Worried.
Above us, the sky continued its slow, indifferent brightening.
Water had been threaded.
And I had not known how easily I would unravel.