The next day, as the sun peeked through the covering clouds, it transformed the sky from deep blues to vibrant hues of orange, pink, and purple.
It painted the clouds with colours, illuminating the landscape with a diffused, ethereal glow.
Sena felt the slight change in temperature as the rising sun gradually warmed Silvershroud Forest's nighttime coolness, signaling the beginning of a new day.
She may have named her blades with pride, but now came the harder part: learning to actually use them.
She stood awkwardly at first, gripping the hilt too tightly.
Her knuckles were pale, and her wrists were stiff. Struggling to find a proper balance, the blade wobbled slightly with each movement she made, betraying her inexperience.
Her feet shuffled more with each step, unsure whether to advance or retreat.
The training dummy stood firm, unmoving, indifferent.
On her first swing, the sword glanced off the dummy's shoulder, not with power, but with hesitation. A hollow thunk rang out. She flinched at the sound, her eyes narrowing and squinting in frustration. As if mocking her inexperience.
She took a deep breath and analysed if her stance was proper as she took the second strike, a tad bit faster, but she felt clumsier. Too much shoulder, not enough follow-through.
The blade bounced back slightly.
Her stance breaks.
By her third attempt, something drastically shifted; not grace, not skill, but intent.
Her arms loosened.
Her breath slowed.
The swing she laid landed truer, striking the dummy square in the center of the chest.
She exhaled through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded along her brow.
It's messy. It's raw.
But it's a start.
She took a few more strikes at the training dummy, finessing her every move. She tried jumping, lunging forward, running in as if attacking, even prancing around the dummy as she slashed her wooden sword.
Twirling and flourishing the sword around before making a confident slicing and stabbing movement, she felt her wrist becoming more fluid and comfortable.
She flourished the sword another time, and the blunted blade hit her forehead unexpectedly.
Her movements were too slow to dodge, and the blunt tip landed with a perfect bonk.
She flinched and crouched down, dropping her sword, while wincing at the throbbing pain she just caused herself.
"Damn it! That hurts!"
Her fingers scrubbed and tapped on her forehead, thinking it would ease the pain.
She stood up, picked up her sword, and tried again.
"Remember, sword, we're attacking the dummy, okay? Not me, not my forehead, not my body. Focus!"
Talking and glaring at her inanimate wooden sword, as if expecting a response. She rolled her eyes and then looked at the dummy again to continue her training.
She gripped the sword firmly with both hands, lunged forward, and struck at it over and over again.
Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking.
Lurking beyond the thicket.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Crows cawed in the distance, and the wind shifted around her, swaying and rustling the trees. She took no notice of the looming presence just beyond the shrubbery of where she trained.
Her focus was on her sword training; nothing else registered to her mind. She needed to learn how to protect herself, even if she didn't know how to do it right.
The day came and went.
Sena looked down at her hands, shivering and shaking uncontrollably. Scrapes and small cuts formed on her palm from gripping the wooden sword all day.
Looking at the skyline, she took a deep, long inhale, savoring the earthy, fresh forest air. She felt a sense of pride and a sense of achievement as she exhaled through her mouth "haaahhh…"
"I did good. I'll be better." She told herself.
Sena knew she'd reached one of the exciting parts of an adventurous journey. The corners of her lips curved as she smirked at her small progress.
Before she called it a day, she noticed the katana she had made, imagining it as a sad, unused piece of equipment, she approached it and leaned forward, "Tomorrow, we will play."
She picked it up and headed inside for the night.
Taking mental notes of optimal times to train her body, she decided on training with her sword and katana at different times of day: once at twilight, when the air was colder, sharper, and harder to breathe; once at midday, where the sun is scorching and the ecosystem is awake, and lastly, once at dusk, where the air is gentle and cool.
She thought this would help her lungs adjust to varying temperatures, making her body more flexible and agile.
Leaning over her small desk, she peeked at her to-do list.
Foraging and fishing between training sessions would be easy, she thought.
She was a week closer to leaving this cabin, Silvershroud Forest, and the old people she'd so easily grown attached to… behind.
She bathed and settled in for the night.
— — —
The week that followed bled from one day into the next.
When twilight came, it was cold and sharp, the kind that prickled her skin and filled her lungs like misty needles. The katana she had promised to play with the day before felt heavier in the morning chill.
Her fingers ached, her balance unsure, but every breath she took carved strength into her body.
There was no grace in her movements, only stubborn rhythm.
At midday, when the sun scorched through the canopy, Sena pushed herself harder. The heat soaked through her clothes, sweat dripping down her back.
Her grip slipped often, her swings grew wild, but she refused to stop.
The forest buzzed with life. Insects hummed. Birds scattered.
The dummy stood as always, unmoving, unimpressed.
Despite the katana being noticeably lighter than her sword, she couldn't find the balance of swinging it with purpose and precision. She thought about exerting less force and adjust her movements with more flow.
She didn't feel the need to conquer her blade anymore, unlike how she had with the sword.
With the katana, it felt more like a fluid communication; learning to speak with it with ease and discipline.
Her hair draped forward as she stepped into the strike; not falling wildly, but folding with the motion like a silk curtain caught in slow wind. As the blade arced, a few strands curled around her cheek, weightless, forgotten.
As dusk fell, the forest softened.
The air grew kind.
Training in the fading light, her motions became smoother, more deliberate. Her body remembered what her mind didn't have to command.
With each pivot, her hair lagged a beat behind her body, whipping in elegant spirals before collapsing against her back in ripples. It clung, it lifted, it danced, not separate from her, but reacting like a second instinct.
In these moments, her focus narrowed.
Nothing else existed—not her name, not her loneliness, not even the past.
Just the blade.
Just the motion.
Between training sessions, Sena foraged.
Beneath mossy rocks and around root-covered trees, she gathered herbs she'd memorized from her books. She learned to distinguish edible greens from lookalikes—bitter from poisonous. Her hands bore scratches, her knees bruised, but her basket filled.
Fishing became her evening ritual.
She crafted simple lures, mimicking insect movements on the water's surface. Some days she caught nothing. Other times, she brought back more fish than she could carry.
She smoked it to dry, in preparation for her journey.
But rabbits… She was not made for rabbits.
She tried crafting a snare, just like the diagrams said.
Twigs. Rope. Bait.
The next day? The trap was snapped.
Bait gone. No rabbit.
She tried again.
This time: dirt kicked everywhere.
A rabbit had clearly rolled around in it, smug and unbothered.
Third time, she watched from behind a tree.
She held her breath…
A rabbit sniffed the bait, chewed it, then stared straight at her.
It wiggled its nose.
It left.
She sighed, dragging a palm down her face.
"Alright, message received. I'll eat fish."
—
The days passed, measured not by a calendar but by muscle memory. Bruises turned to calluses. Her swing gained power. Her training dummy bore deep dents, its chest scarred by repetition.
Every morning, she repeated her promise:
"My name is Sena Yukari. And I will live this third life to the fullest."
Every evening, she whispered it again.
Not as a mantra.
But as a vow.
To Sena, the forest began to feel smaller.
The cabin of convenience felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cocoon spun from restrictive stillness and the quiet lie of safety.
The days that bled on to the next slowly became stagnant inside the cabin.
What once felt like comfort and rest now itched beneath her skin, like a question with no words.
She could feel herself shrinking to fit the space — not her body, but her becoming.
She knew… soon, she would outgrow it.
And when she did, staying would mean forgetting who she was meant to be.
Soon… she'd leave. And that terrified her.
But not enough to make her stay.