The night was particularly cold, and the wind passing through the trees surrounding the village carried a continuous lament, as if the forest itself were warning of what was to come. Castian could not find rest. His mind was filled with worries, doubts, and a silent determination that pulled him out of bed. He knew war could arrive at any moment. And while many believed negotiating or yielding to Feng’s demands would suffice, Castian understood it would not be enough.
Dressed in a simple tunic, he got up and went to the storage room of the house, where he had discovered an old sword among his father’s belongings. Cheng kept that weapon as a reminder of more dangerous times, but for Castian, the blade now represented something more. It was the tool that would help him fight, even if he didn’t yet know exactly how.
As he held the worn hilt and felt the weight of the blade, a mix of determination and fear surged in his chest. The sword was slightly rusted, and its balance was far from ideal, but the edge was still sharp enough.
With the sword in hand, Castian walked to the empty field behind the house. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the sleeping village. The sound of crickets and the wind was almost comforting, but Castian knew the silence of the night was only the prelude to an impending storm.
He stopped in the middle of the field, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment. He tried to focus, to push away the chaotic thoughts that tormented him and channel all his energy into the movements he was about to execute.
"I cannot fail," he murmured to himself, raising the sword. "If I can’t defend the village, no one else can."
He started with simple movements, the same ones he had seen the local guards practice when he was younger. The blade cut through the air with a sharp sound, but his arms were stiff, and his strikes seemed clumsy.
"Balance," Castian whispered to himself, adjusting his posture.
He tried to move with more fluidity, recalling how experienced soldiers danced with their swords, each strike seeming like a natural extension of their bodies. But for Castian, everything felt forced. The sword felt too heavy, the movements awkward. Still, he refused to stop.
Fatigue began to build, but Castian didn’t relent. He closed his eyes, imagining he was facing invisible enemies, shadowy figures emerging from the forest to attack the village. He swung the sword and delivered a strong strike against a pile of hay he had set up as a target.
"I can do this," he murmured, as if trying to convince himself.
But his mind was conflicted. He thought of his father, Cheng, and the words spoken during the many arguments they had recently. Cheng didn’t want him to fight. For his father, protecting the family was the only goal that mattered. Castian, however, felt his responsibility extended beyond that.
"I’m not like him," he thought, delivering another strike against the hay, sending particles flying through the air. "I can’t just hide and hope the danger passes."
With each strike, he felt the tension in his arms grow. His muscles burned, but he kept going. The pain, to him, was a reminder that he was alive, that there was still time to become stronger.
Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed in his mind, interrupting his thoughts.
"You’re fighting shadows, Castian," said the entity, its voice soft but laced with judgment.
Castian paused for a moment, lowering the sword and breathing heavily. He was already used to the presence of the entity in his mind, but that didn’t make its interruptions any less irritating.
"You think you can face Feng with that rusty blade and clumsy movements?" the voice continued, now with an almost mocking tone.
"I don’t need you to believe in me," Castian retorted, gripping the sword tighter. His voice was firm, though there was a note of frustration. "I just need time."
The entity laughed, a cold and distant sound that echoed through Castian’s mind.
"Time?" it said. "Time is something you don’t have. Feng won’t wait. His spies have already surrounded your village, and when he comes, your determination will be nothing but an echo amidst the chaos."
Castian gritted his teeth. He knew the entity was right, but he wasn’t willing to admit it.
"Then help me," he said, looking into the darkness around him as if he could confront the entity directly. "If you know so much, then show me what to do."
The entity was silent for a moment, as if pondering its response.
"Power isn’t in the sword, Castian," it finally said. "It’s in the one who wields it. You need to find balance, focus. If you fight like a frightened boy, you’ll die like a frightened boy."
Castian took a deep breath, trying to absorb the words. He knew the entity was right, but that didn’t make things any easier.
"Balance... focus..." he repeated to himself, adjusting his posture and gripping the sword with less tension.
This time, he tried to move more controlled, aiming for precision instead of brute strength. The blade sliced through the air in smooth, firm motions, and Castian began to feel a stronger connection with the weapon in his hands.
The sound of crickets and the wind around him seemed to create a rhythmic melody that helped him focus. He lost himself in the movements, his thoughts dissipating as instinct took over.
For a moment, he felt different. He wasn’t just swinging a sword. He was fighting. Fighting to become something more than a young man filled with fear.
"Now you’re learning," the entity whispered, almost satisfied.
Castian ignored the comment, focusing solely on the movements. He continued practicing until his arms burned, until his legs nearly gave out from exhaustion. When he finally stopped, sweat dripped down his face, and his breathing was heavy, but there was something new in his gaze: determination.
He looked at the sword in his hands, now a bit more familiar, a bit less heavy.
"It’s not perfect," he murmured to himself. "But it’s a start."
As he stored the sword and headed back to the house, Castian felt something different inside him. The doubt was still there, but now there was something more. A purpose. He knew the war was inevitable, but for the first time, he felt he could face what was coming.
When he reached the house, the silence of the village enveloped him. The wind still whistled through the trees, but to Castian, it was no longer a sound of fear. It was a call. A call to the battle ahead, and he was determined to answer it.