The blade moved through the air in slow arcs, slicing sunlight into trembling ripples.
Jin's boots ground against the cracked stones of the training yard, each step steady, measured. He wasn't rushing. He wasn't chasing speed or power.
This was about control.
His hands adjusted mid-swing, feeling the awkward weight of the broken katana, the way it tilted just slightly wrong without the missing piece of steel. He didn't fight it. He folded it into the motion, let it guide the path of each cut instead of resisting.
The River's Edge stance. The old Heian footwork.
They were still awkward, still stiff at the joints.
But he was getting closer.
He pivoted on the ball of his foot, blade sweeping low in a wide, deliberate arc. His breathing stayed slow, timed with every movement, not letting fatigue rush him ahead of his own rhythm.
