Classes ended later than usual. Streams of students flowed through the Academy corridors like rivers of people, each hurrying to their own affairs, discussing lectures, training assignments, gossip, mentors. Voices mingled under the high dome of the main building, reflected off the white walls, and then faded as the students dispersed.
Sai was the last to leave the classroom. The desk where he'd sat still held the faint warmth of his palm—he'd leaned on it for a long time, listening to the instructor's explanations and trying to maintain his focus.
The entire lesson, he'd thought about what he'd heard from Aella yesterday, about the revolver, about his level, about how he remained weak no matter how hard he tried.
But today…
Today he felt a strange tension.
An anticipation of something.
When he stepped into the corridor, a light draft greeted him—the windows were open: the weather had changed abruptly.
Heavy gray clouds hung in the sky.
The wind was dense, cold, as if foretelling a storm.
The green crowns of the trees outside the window danced and creaked.
It looked as if the whole world was preparing for something.
Not for rain—for change.
Sai walked down the corridor, glancing at his watch—he had fifteen minutes before Aella had ordered him to come to the training grounds.
And he didn't plan to be late.
He turned onto the staircase, descended to the first floor, and stepped outside.
And immediately smelled the approaching rain—damp, cold, slightly metallic.
The training ground was behind the western wing of the Academy, out in the open air: wooden training dummies, sand, a fence, a small weapons shed.
When Sai approached, Aella was already there.
She stood with her back to him, arms crossed over her chest, gazing at the dark sky.
Her long black hair swayed in the wind.
Her white eyes—cold, calm, slicing through space.
Sai stopped a few steps away, trying to act like he wasn't nervous.
"I'm here…" he began.
"Late," she said sharply, without turning around.
He blinked.
"Um… but I'm three minutes early…"
"Late," she repeated, turning her head.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk flickered at the corner of her lips.
"For the weak—it's always late."
Sai lowered his gaze.
"I… I'm not weak."
"You are weak. For now." She turned to face him fully. "But you have something most don't."
Sai looked up.
"The will to survive," she said. "Even if you don't realize it yourself."
She stepped closer—almost right up to him.
Sai involuntarily took a step back.
"Right." She clapped her hands. "Let's begin."
She tossed him a wooden practice sword.
He barely caught it—his hands trembled.
"Hold it tighter. You don't want to knock your own teeth out, do you?"
"I don't…"
"Quiet. We start with footwork."
---
They had been training for about an hour.
Sai was drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged, his muscles aching.
He tried to mimic her movements—fluid, precise, honed by thousands of hours.
But he felt clumsy, wooden, every attempt felt like a failure.
Aella circled him, observing.
"Stop." She halted beside him.
"You're tensing your shoulders again."
Sai exhaled.
"I'm trying…"
"Don't try. Do."
She grabbed his elbow, sharply straightened his arm.
"Like this. The movement doesn't come from here…" she poked his shoulder. "...but from here."
She poked the center of his chest.
Sai blinked.
"From the chest?"
"From intent, you idiot."
He choked on air.
"Uh… thanks?"
"Don't thank me. You still can't do anything yet."
She walked over to a dummy, gripped the hilt of her sword.
And in the next instant, she struck.
Smooth. Fast. Clean.
The wooden head of the dummy flew off as if made of paper.
Sai froze.
She walked back to him.
"The world doesn't forgive the weak."
She spoke quietly, but each word seemed to cut the air.
"No one pities the weak. They are used. They are broken. They are killed. They are forgotten."
Sai swallowed.
"You think if you try hard, someone will pity you?"
"…"
"They won't."
She walked past him, looking somewhere into the distance—where clouds churned beyond the horizon.
"In this world, only those who can hold a weapon at heart-level and not flinch survive."
"And if… if I can't?" he asked quietly.
She turned around.
"Then you'll die. Quickly. And no one will remember your name."
Sai looked at his wooden hilt.
Gripped it tighter.
"But you can," she said calmly. "If you decide you want to live."
---
Another half hour passed.
Aella stopped the training, casting a glance at his sweaty, exhausted state.
"Enough. That's sufficient for today."
Sai was breathing heavily.
The sword trembled in his hands.
He felt drained, but… in his chest was a strange spark.
Something warm.
As if every word she'd said had sunk deeper into him than any blow.
Aella approached, took his sword, and put it back.
"You're hiding something," she said unexpectedly.
Sai tensed.
"What?"
She tilted her head slightly, studying him.
"You have a weapon. Not a normal one. A strange one. A repulsive one."
Her white eyes narrowed.
"What is that revolver, Sai?"
His heart plummeted.
His fingers turned cold.
He instinctively touched the pocket where Reval was hidden under his uniform.
Aella waited for an answer.
Without pressure.
But with an attention that could pierce right through him.
Sai exhaled.
"It's… just something I found."
"You're lying."
"…"
"Sooner or later," she said, "you'll have to tell the truth. Not to me—to yourself."
She turned away.
"We meet at the same time tomorrow. Don't be late."
And she left, dissolving into the wind, into the darkening cloudy sky, like a part of the storm approaching the whole world.
Sai remained standing alone on the empty training ground, with a wildly beating heart and heavy thoughts.
The revolver seemed to burn his pocket.
And Aella's words—burned his head.
And for the first time, Sai thought:
I have no right to be weak…
---
Sai stood on the empty training ground longer than he'd intended.
The wind had strengthened—sharp, stinging, cold. The clouds above the Academy had darkened as if someone had dimmed the world's light.
The sand at his feet swirled in small eddies. The dummies creaked. The wooden swords in the rack rattled as the draft touched their hilts.
Sai slowly ran a hand over his face—sweat mixed with the cold air, his skin tingled. His muscles trembled, unaccustomed to the strain.
But inside, somewhere deep in his chest, a feeling stirred…
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Something resembling a dull resolve.
As if a switch had been flipped inside him.
He looked at the spot where Aella had stood just minutes before.
A trace of her presence seemed to linger—not physical, but oppressive, like the shadow of a predator.
She's right…
If he stays like this, nothing good will come of it.
Sai lifted his gaze to the sky.
The heavy clouds slowly churned above the Academy, like a giant gray vortex.
Looked like the rain would be heavy.
He sighed and headed for the exit of the training area.
But after just a couple of steps, something…
clicked.
Barely audible.
Like the rattle of metal.
Sai stopped.
Touching his pocket, he realized:
the revolver had clicked.
But… it shouldn't make noise.
It's old.
Broken.
No bullets.
No life.
Sai carefully pulled it out, looked at it.
The same matte, old Reval.
The barrel, weathered by time.
The heavy grip.
The crack near the hammer.
But now…
It felt slightly warmer than usual.
Sai frowned.
"What's with you?…"
No answer.
Only the wind, snatching away his words.
He put the weapon back and, quickening his pace, headed for the dormitory.
As he walked, his thoughts wouldn't leave him alone.
Aella's words swirled in his head:
'You're hiding something…'
'The revolver… repulsive…'
'You'll have to tell the truth to yourself…'
The truth…
But what truth?
He didn't really know himself.
As he reached the dormitory doors, the first clap of thunder struck.
The sky flashed with white light.
Sai froze for a second, peering at the streak of lightning.
And in that moment, for just a second—he thought he saw a shadow on the Academy roof.
A figure.
A silhouette.
Slender.
With long hair.
White eyes?
He blinked—and it was gone.
"Just my imagination…" he whispered.
He entered the building, closing the door behind him, hiding from the approaching downpour.
But the feeling wouldn't let go.