The Last Saint Sanctum

The next morning, after their arrival at Kite’s remote cabin, Celeste stood in the small clearing behind the house, a wooden practice sword clutched tightly in her hands. Her muscles still ached from the long journey, but there was a flicker of excitement in her chest. She was about to take her first step into the world of swordsmanship.

Kite stood across from her, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the early morning light, and the wooden practice sword in his hand seemed almost weightless in his grip. Unlike Celeste, who held hers awkwardly, Kite looked as if the sword were part of him an extension of his body.

"Before you learn to swing a sword," Kite began, his voice steady and calm, "you need to understand what it means to be a swordsman."

Celeste nodded, eager to begin, but Kite didn’t hand her any grand teachings about strength or power. Instead, he spoke of something entirely different.

"Swordsmanship isn’t about brute force," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "It’s about precision, speed, and elegance. A swift, controlled strike is more powerful than a wild, forceful one. My style focuses on quick, fluid movements swift strikes and sharp reflexes. But to achieve that, you must first learn composure."

"Composure?" Celeste asked, tilting her head.

Kite nodded. "Yes. If you can’t compose yourself while holding a sword, you’ll never control it. The sword isn’t just a weapon it’s part of you. The way you hold it, the way you move with it, reflects your state of mind. If you’re tense, the sword will be stiff. If you’re calm, the sword will flow."

Celeste looked down at the wooden sword in her hands, gripping it tightly. She hadn’t realized how tense her body was. She felt like she was preparing for battle, but Kite seemed to suggest something different something more graceful.

Kite stepped forward, standing beside her. "Hold the sword lightly," he instructed. "Not so loose that you’ll drop it, but not so tight that your movements are restricted."

Celeste adjusted her grip, loosening her fingers slightly. The sword felt strange in her hands lighter, almost unfamiliar. But it also felt… easier. She wasn’t straining to hold it anymore.

"Good," Kite said, stepping back to observe her. "Now, your stance. Keep your feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent. You need balance. Without balance, even the swiftest strike will fail."

Celeste spread her feet, adjusting her posture as he had instructed. Her legs wobbled a little at first, but she quickly corrected herself, finding a stance that felt more stable.

Kite nodded approvingly. "Better. Now, focus on your breathing. It might seem unrelated, but how you breathe affects your movement. Slow, steady breaths will keep you calm and controlled."

Celeste took a deep breath, trying to let the tension leave her body as she exhaled. Her grip on the sword loosened a little more, and she felt her muscles relax.

"Composure is the foundation," Kite continued. "When you're composed, your movements become deliberate, precise. The blade will follow your will. But if you're reckless or panicked, the sword will feel like a burden."

He demonstrated by lifting his own practice sword. In one fluid motion, Kite swung it in a wide arc, the blade slicing effortlessly through the air with a soft whoosh. It wasn’t just fast it was graceful, as if the sword were gliding through water.

"See how smooth it is?" Kite asked. "There’s no wasted movement. Each strike is deliberate, and that’s what makes it effective."

Celeste stared, mesmerized. She had never thought of swordsmanship like this. In her mind, she had imagined something more violent, more forceful. But Kite’s movements were elegant, almost like a dance.

"You try," Kite said, stepping back.

Nervous but determined, Celeste raised her sword and attempted to mimic Kite’s swing. Her movements were slow and clumsy, the sword feeling heavy in her hands. She swung too hard, trying to force the blade through the air, but it felt awkward.

"Stop," Kite said sharply.

Celeste froze, her heart pounding. She had expected to be scolded, but Kite’s voice remained calm.

"You’re forcing it," Kite said, walking toward her. "You’re trying to swing the sword with strength, but that’s not the point. A sword is not an axe, you don’t need to hack away at your target. A single, well-placed cut is more than enough."

He stood beside her again, adjusting her grip and stance. "Let the sword do the work. Don’t fight it. Feel the weight, the balance. Swing with the flow of your body, not against it."

Celeste took a deep breath and tried again, this time focusing on her body, her breath, and the sword as one. She swung, slower this time, and while it was still awkward, it felt smoother.

Kite nodded slightly. "Better. Now, again. But slower this time. Focus on control, not speed or strength."

They spent the next hour like that swinging, adjusting, correcting. Celeste’s muscles ached, but slowly, she began to feel the difference. Each swing became a little smoother, her movements more controlled. She wasn’t forcing the sword anymore; she was learning to move with it.

By the time the sun had risen high above the trees, Celeste’s arms felt like they were on fire, but she was starting to understand. It wasn’t just about swinging a sword. It was about composure, about moving with intention and grace.

Kite stood back, observing her closely. "You're starting to understand," he said. "But this is just the beginning. Swordsmanship is an art. You don’t learn it overnight."

Celeste nodded, wiping the sweat from her brow. She was exhausted, but there was a fire in her chest a determination she hadn’t felt before. She wanted to learn. She wanted to master this.

"Tomorrow, we’ll continue with more swings," Kite said, his tone calm but firm. "You’re getting the feel of the sword. Once you’ve mastered that, we’ll move on to more advanced techniques speed, precision, and timing."

As they made their way back to the cabin, Celeste’s mind raced with thoughts of the day’s lesson. Kite’s style was unlike anything she had imagined fast, fluid, elegant. It wasn’t about brute strength or overpowering her opponent. It was about controlling the sword with precision and swiftness.

And as tired as she was, Celeste couldn’t wait for the next lesson.