Gradus Ascensionis XXIII

The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson. Firelez and Tenza sat on the edge of the floating island, their feet dangling above the misty expanse below. The hum of Sky's machines was distant, almost soothing, like the pulse of a sleeping giant.

Tenza stared into the horizon, her brow furrowed. "What if I'm not enough?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Firelez leaned back, propping himself on his hands, his gaze steady. "Everyone wants to win, Tenza," he began, his tone calm but purposeful. "Everyone wants to get kills, to be number one. But here's the thing—you should ask yourself something different."

She turned to him, her eyes questioning. "What's that?"

"What does the opponent need? What do they want?" Firelez's voice carried the weight of countless battles, each word deliberate. "Because the moment you start asking yourself that, that's when you realize things like freezing, like scaling, like not fighting. And you'll see how inaction sometimes is the most powerful action."

Tenza frowned, her mind grappling with his words. "But isn't that just… giving up?"

Firelez shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "Most people won't perceive it that way. They'll call it cowardice or passivity because they only see the immediate game—the kills, the leaderboard. But the real game? It's about understanding the board, not just the pieces. Winning isn't about crushing your opponent—it's about knowing when not to fight, when to let them defeat themselves."

Tenza looked away, the weight of his wisdom sinking in. "I don't know if I can think that far ahead. I just… I want to do the right thing."

Firelez chuckled softly. "You will, because you're already asking the right questions. Remember, Tenza: strength isn't just in action—it's in understanding. And understanding starts with knowing what everyone else is too focused to see."

The wind whispered around them, carrying the faint hum of the machines and the distant call of Sky's voice as he prepared for his journey. Firelez's expression softened, his gaze lingering on Tenza.

"When the time comes, you'll see it," he said quietly. "And you'll know what to do."

The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint sound of an invitation in her interface. "Tenza," It began. "Your training awaits. The dojo is ready."

And there was another accompanying Sensei Leonardo's invitation, it was sensei Kishikawa's "We will see how much you've learned and how much further you can go. There is no shame in falling, only in refusing to stand, Tenza."

Tenza hesitated, her gaze flickering toward Firelez, whose silent nod carried both encouragement and unspoken farewell. She stood, straightened her posture, and was about to accept the invitations but before she could accept them, Sky emerged from his workshop, the music inside fading into the background. His expression carried a rare softness, the glint in his brown eyes betraying a spark of mischief.

"Tenza," he called, his tone light but steady, "I won't join you for training today. I have some business to take care of."

She raised a brow, curiosity tinged with slight annoyance. "More scheming?"

Sky smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "You could say that. I'll bring three more people to the party—those building the railways in their respective zones. They'll complete the team. You'll meet them soon enough."

Before she could respond, Sky waved at them and ran toward the railway station perched at the edge of the island. The hovertrain awaited—a sleek, gleaming vessel gliding effortlessly above a railway of luminous light, supported by sturdy pylons that seemed to defy gravity. Its design was the perfect union of functionality and artistry, exuding sophistication with every aerodynamic curve.

Large panoramic windows stretched across the sides, inviting passengers to marvel at breathtaking views and feel the rush of wind when opened. These windows weren't merely for aesthetic pleasure—they embodied the train's mission to offer an immersive and joyous journey.

Inside, the train was a marvel of modernity and warmth. Spacious seating arrangements and cutting-edge safety features were seamlessly integrated, while the lighting shifted from natural daylight hues to a calming ambient glow as the evening deepened. Every detail seemed to echo a promise: travel isn't just a means to an end—it's an experience to be cherished.

Sky grinned at the group, his excitement as unrestrained as a child's. "Don't worry," he said, his brown eyes alight with anticipation. "I'll be back tomorrow to join your training. For now, I've got a ride to catch."

Instead of teleporting away as he often did, Sky boarded the hovertrain, its doors sliding shut with a gentle hiss. The train hummed to life, lifting off the tracks with an elegant ease.

Tenza and Firelez watched as the hovertrain glided smoothly along the rails of the Aura Railway, gaining speed until it curved gracefully into the horizon.

Through the panoramic windows of the train, they caught a glimpse of Sky. He wasn't strategizing or calculating—he was smiling, a genuine, unguarded expression of joy. His brown eyes sparkled like a child on a rollercoaster, immersed in the sheer exhilaration of the ride.

Firelez chuckled softly. "That guy… sometimes it's hard to believe he's the same cosmic warrior who fought angels and demons over the vatican."

Tenza watched the train disappear into the distance, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. "Maybe that's what makes him who he is."

Tenza finally accepted the invitations, her avatar lighter but her thoughts heavier, carrying with her the wisdom of Firelez and the enigmatic inspiration of Sky.

The dojo's atmosphere hummed with quiet anticipation as Fiona stepped onto the tatami mats, her every footfall resonating with a newfound purpose. Sensei Leonardo stood at the far end, his posture deceptively relaxed, yet his presence radiated readiness. His eyes met hers with warmth, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

"Remind me," he began after their respectful salutes, his voice calm but probing, "why did you come here?"

Fiona straightened her posture, her voice steady, unwavering. "I came here to get tired, to bleed, so I won't be tired or bleed when I step onto the battlefield."

Leonardo nodded, approval gleaming in his gaze. "Good. But tonight is different. Today, you will show me how you would teach the basics. Teach me the kihon."

Fiona blinked, caught off guard by the unusual request. Teaching? She hesitated but nodded. She began awkwardly, explaining the punches, the kicks, the transitions—every detail of the basics. Her words stumbled at first, her movements exaggerated as she tried to verbalize what had always been instinctive.

But as she continued, something shifted. Describing the techniques forced her to examine them more deeply. She scrutinized her stance, her balance, the flow of energy through each strike. Her awkwardness faded, replaced by a growing clarity.

Leonardo watched intently, nodding as she spoke. When she finished, he stepped closer, his voice calm yet filled with approval. "You learn from mistakes," he said. "When someone shifts stances and loses balance, you start to see why. Foot placement. Posture. Focus. These aren't just details—they're the foundation of mastery."

Fiona's brow furrowed as she absorbed his words. She realized her exaggerated movements made every imbalance glaringly obvious. Her mistakes weren't failures—they were lessons, forcing her to refine her techniques. She looked down at her fist, now frozen mid-strike, and a thought struck her like lightning.

"My punch isn't just muscle—it's a precise mathematical equation."

She could almost hear Archon's voice, that calm, analytical tone explaining Newton's laws of motion. "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction." Her fist wasn't the start of the punch—it was the conclusion of a conversation with physics.

Her feet pressed against the ground—the first variable in her equation. Ground contact. Energy began there, transferring upward in a wave of potential.

Her hips rotated—the second variable. Not just movement, but torque. Her body coiled like a spring, releasing its energy in one fluid, explosive motion.

The muscles in her arm engaged—not in isolation, but as a coordinated system, each fiber tracing an invisible trajectory toward her target.

"A kick in Kyokushin," Sensei Leonardo interrupted her thoughts, his voice contemplative, "isn't about how hard you strike. It's about how efficiently you translate gravitational potential and muscular tension into a singular, unstoppable moment of impact."

The realization spread through her like wildfire. She wasn't just fighting—she was conducting. Every movement was an expression of physics, a theorem brought to life.

"I wasn't defying the universe's laws," she thought. "I was speaking its language. My body wasn't a weapon—it was a translator, converting potential energy into kinetic force with precision and grace."

Leonardo's voice grew softer, almost reverent. "Science isn't separate from martial arts. It's the hidden language of motion itself. Every strike, every block, every breath—it's all physics. And Sky—he's a master of that language."

Fiona froze mid-movement, a smile breaking across her face. The truth resonated through her, clear and undeniable. "I wasn't fighting against physics. I was becoming the equation. The punch, the kick—they weren't just actions. They were principles, expressed perfectly."

She exhaled slowly, her breath steady and calm. A smile lingered on her lips, not of triumph, but of understanding. "That's how Sky fights."

The dojo fell silent, her revelation echoing in the stillness like a whispered truth.

For the next hour, the dojo resonated with the steady rhythm of Fiona's movements. Each punch and kick grew sharper, her body internalizing the mechanics she had painstakingly broken down. The repetition was meditative, her focus unwavering as she sought to refine every motion. With each strike, her confidence swelled, a small smile breaking through as she felt herself improving.

The session reached its crescendo just as the sliding door of the virtual dojo opened. Sensei Kishikawa entered, carrying a katana unlike anything Fiona had ever seen.

The sword was breathtaking. Its blade shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance, as though it had captured the light of a dying star within its core. The metal seemed alive, its surface radiating a golden hue that whispered of its origins—materials forged from the heart of the sun, tempered by cosmic forces beyond imagination.

Its scabbard was crafted from the wood of a guayacán tree, one of the strongest and most sacred woods in the world. The grain gleamed with a natural luster, as if the tree itself had offered its essence willingly for this creation. The scabbard's surface was etched with intricate carvings of intertwining Japanese and Muisca motifs, a seamless fusion of two ancient cultures.

The hilt, wrapped in dark silk braided with the crescent moon symbol and the handle shaped after the Muisca Kogi, exactly as the tattoo on her shoulder, exuded a quiet power. As Fiona stepped closer, her breath caught. The handle bore the unmistakable Muisca numerals: "10+1," symbolizing 20—a direct connection to her ancestors and their reverence for unity and balance.

Sensei Kishikawa approached her, the katana cradled in his hands with a reverence that matched its majesty. His voice, both warm and authoritative, broke the silence. "So, you now understand Shin Gi Tai."

Fiona's brow furrowed, puzzled by the unfamiliar term.

Sensei Leonardo stepped forward, his tone gentle but purposeful. "Shin Gi Tai means 'spirit over technique, technique over strength.' It is the key to mastery in any art—and in life. It is the secret behind success."

Her eyes widened as the meaning sank in, the profound simplicity of the concept intertwining with the lessons she had just absorbed.

Kishikawa extended the katana toward her, and with trembling hands, she accepted it. The weight of the weapon wasn't just physical—it carried a gravity of purpose and legacy. As her fingers closed around the hilt, she felt a surge of warmth and connection, as though the blade recognized her as its rightful bearer.

Up close, she could make out the intricate details etched into the katana. The Muisca numerals on the hilt glowed faintly, a reminder of her heritage and the strength of her ancestors. This wasn't just a sword. It was a masterpiece, a fusion of Sky's ingenuity and deep respect for both Japanese and Muisca traditions. It was her katana, crafted with reverence and intent, a physical manifestation of her growth and potential.

Holding the blade, Fiona felt something shift within her—a clarity she hadn't known she was seeking. The hours of repetition, the lessons of her senseis, the stories of her ancestors, all converged into a singular truth: this was not just a weapon. It was a symbol of her resilience, her dedication, and her unbroken connection to the wisdom of the past.

As Fiona held the katana in her hands, its weight felt more than physical—it was a connection to something far greater than herself. She turned it slowly, the sunlight catching the blade's surface. For a moment, the metal seemed to glow, not like a weapon forged from chromium, nickel and cobalt, but like the moon itself, reflecting the light of the distant sun.

Her gaze fell to the crescent moon braided into the hilt. Depending on her grip, the crescent aligned to form what looked like a lunar eclipse, a symbolic harmony of light and shadow.

A memory surfaced, vivid and alive. Her grandmother's voice, warm and wise, echoed in her mind: "The Muisca didn't just revere the sun and the moon, Fiona. They worshipped the stars, the planets. They watched their movements, recorded their dances across the sky. The cosmos was a part of us, and we were a part of it."

She remembered being tucked in the bed as her grandmother shared tales of the Muisca's pantheon—the sun god Zue, the moon goddess Chia, and the sacred interconnectedness of all things. Her grandmother's stories painted a world where rivers, lakes, and mountains were portals to other realms, where the stars held secrets that guided their lives.

The katana was named Chia, after the moon goddess, her grandmother's favorite deity. Fiona traced the Muisca numerals on the hilt—10+1. The weight of those numbers settled in her chest, not as a burden, but as a reminder of her heritage, her ancestors, and the legacy she carried forward.

The craftsmanship of the katana spoke volumes. The guayacán wood of its scabbard, sacred and unyielding, bore carvings that blended Japanese precision with Muisca reverence. Sky had not just made a weapon—he had created a masterpiece that honored both cultures, a physical demonstration of his respect and admiration for Earth's heritage.

Her mind raced with questions. How does he know about the Muisca? she wondered, her grip tightening slightly. And why would he go to such lengths to honor my ancestors?

Her thoughts turned inward, her emotions a swirling mix of awe, gratitude, and curiosity. The stories her grandmother had shared felt alive again, as though the cosmos itself was reaching out to her through this blade.

"The Muisca believed that understanding the stars and planets helped them predict the best times for planting and harvesting," her grandmother had once said. "We looked to the cosmos not for control, but for harmony."

As she slowly sheathed the katana, the action felt ceremonial, almost sacred. She whispered softly, more to herself than anyone else, "This is more than a weapon. It's a reminder of who I am—and who I'm meant to become."

Sensei Leonardo, observing her introspection, stepped forward. His voice carried a quiet reverence. "Sky's craft is not just skill—it's love. Love for this world, for its stories, for its people. That is why he fights, Tenza. And now, with this blade, so will you."

She looked at her mentors, her voice steady but filled with emotion. "This... this is more than I ever expected. Thank you."

Sensei Kishikawa nodded, his expression serene but proud. "It is not the sword that gives you strength, Tenza. It is you who will give strength to the sword. Carry it with honor."

The dojo fell silent once more, the moment etched into the fabric of Fiona's journey—a reminder that every step forward was a bridge between the past and the future.

As Fiona carefully slid the katana back into its scabbard, a sense of pride and gratitude swelled within her. This gift was not only a masterpiece of craftsmanship but also a profound symbol of her journey and her connection to her ancestors. The weight of its significance filled her with determination.

Feeling an urge to test the blade once more, she gripped the hilt and attempted to draw it. But the katana refused to budge. Surprised, she tried again, pulling harder this time. The blade remained stubbornly locked in place. Frustration began to seep into her expression as she tugged repeatedly, her movements becoming more forceful.

The sound of a soft chuckle broke the tension. Sensei Leonardo and Sensei Kishikawa exchanged knowing glances, their amusement evident though tempered by the respect they held for her earnestness.

Leonardo's eyes twinkled as he spoke, "Sky said this would happen."

Fiona froze, looking between them, her confusion evident. "What do you mean? Did he… lock it somehow?" she asked, her voice a mixture of exasperation and curiosity.

Sensei Kishikawa stepped forward, his movements smooth and deliberate. He placed a hand on the hilt and, with no apparent effort, drew the katana. The blade slid free with a soft metallic whisper, its surface gleaming with an ethereal light. Fiona watched, her mouth slightly agape.

"Someday," Kishikawa said, his tone gentle but edged with wisdom, "you will be able to unsheathe it. But not yet." He sheathed the blade again with practiced ease and handed it back to her.

Fiona's frustration simmered, but it was accompanied by a dawning realization. This was no ordinary challenge—it was another lesson. The sword's refusal to be drawn wasn't about strength or persistence. It was a test of readiness, a reminder that mastery required more than sheer willpower. It required growth, understanding, and patience.

Leonardo, noticing her conflicted expression, smiled warmly. "Every blade has its own spirit, Tenza. This one recognizes your potential but waits for you to grow into it. Don't rush. The journey is just as important as the destination."

Kishikawa added, a subtle hint of humor in his voice, "And besides, it's not every day a katana gets to keep its wielder on their toes."

The senseis' quiet amusement was infectious. Fiona couldn't help but chuckle softly, her earlier frustration easing. She looked down at the scabbard in her hands, its elegant design now carrying a deeper significance.

"I suppose I still have a lot to learn," she admitted, her voice steady but introspective.

"That's the point," Leonardo said, his tone encouraging. "And this blade will teach you, just as we will."

Fiona nodded, the weight of the katana now feeling more purposeful than frustrating. It wasn't just a weapon—it was a new partner in her journey, challenging her to grow into the warrior it knew she could become.

"Now, Fiona," Sensei Kishikawa said, his voice steady but charged with purpose, "you will learn how to wield it."

He stepped forward, holding out a boken—a wooden training sword. Its polished surface gleamed faintly in the dojo's soft light, simple yet imbued with the weight of centuries of tradition. Fiona hesitated for just a heartbeat before accepting it, feeling the solid weight in her hands, a prelude to the true blade that awaited her mastery.

Sensei Kishikawa's gaze met hers, piercing yet calm. "Kenjutsu training begins now."

The words hung in the air like a solemn promise, the dojo falling into a profound stillness. The weight of her journey pressed gently but firmly upon her shoulders.