*A lone figure stands on a hillock, watching the setting sun. He ensures no one is nearby, and removes his hood to bask in the waning sunlight. The burns and scar tissue on his face contrast the soft light as he raises his head to the sky.*
Ping Li Han did this to me.
He thought to teach me a lesson about failure.
And indeed, I did learn.
This Katana…it is a tool of great beauty. Andraia’s work is unmatched in quality and spirit, and I have owned many of her pieces. But to every one, indeed… EVERY one… I have made this change: I have placed this same crossguard on them all. This guard once resided on Ping Li Han’s sword.
The very sword I used to remove his hand and escape.
I learned the price of failure, and perhaps, so did he.
But his cruelty is not what I remember now.
I remember an artist capturing a sunset like this, oblivious to street vendors and thieves.
I remember the fluid ring ring of a smith entranced in his work.
I remember the look of rapture on a dancer’s face, alone with her music regardless of the eyes upon her.
I have felt this…this…oneness…
Not often, but enough. It is when time itself slows to a crawl and every detail is precise, chiseled into the mind. It is when there is no thought as the body does what is natural and right.
I must learn more.
I must train until every movement is instinct.
I must find someone to teach me.
I must.
