The master’s legacy

The evening air carried the scent of spices and damp earth. Niran walked with unsteady steps, his arms wrapped around himself to retain warmth. The wound, though closed, still throbbed with pain, a constant reminder of the battle in the arena.

Every step felt heavier than the last. The breathing technique had kept the wound from worsening, but it wasn't a miracle cure. The stolen food had provided only temporary relief, yet his body still screamed for nourishment.

The streets were quieter than during the day, but his senses remained sharp. The theft at the market wouldn't be forgotten so easily. Every shadow seemed like a potential pursuer.

Finally, after hours of walking, the familiar doors of the dojo appeared before him.

Niran had prepared for the worst. After the master's death, he had expected to find the dojo in ruins, abandoned and looted. But what he saw left him speechless.

The wooden planks were intact, the courtyard empty but clean. The air still carried the faint scent of old wood and incense. It was as if time had not touched this place.

He approached slowly, placing a hand on the sliding door. The sound of the wood moving filled him with nostalgia. He was home.

But he wasn't alone.

A man sat at the center of the main hall, hands resting on his knees, his expression unreadable. It was the master's brother.

Niran tensed. They had rarely spoken in the past, and the man had always seemed distant, severe.

"Your master knew this moment would come."

His voice was low, devoid of emotion. From beneath his kimono, he pulled out a sealed scroll and placed it on the floor before him.

"His will."

Niran swallowed. He knelt slowly, his hand trembling as he reached for the parchment. The wax seal was the same one his master had used for important letters. It was real.

Carefully, he broke the seal, his heart pounding.

His master's words were written in bold, steady strokes. Seeing his handwriting made the loss feel heavier.

"Niran, if you are reading this, then my time has come.

I leave you the dojo. Not just the walls and the objects, but everything it holds.

This place is not made of wood and stone, but of spirit. If you choose to stay, do it for the right reasons."

Niran paused, gripping the paper tightly. The dojo… his?

He continued reading.

> "If you wish to become strong, do not seek revenge. Seek the meaning of strength.

Do not fight out of anger, but out of growth."

The words struck deep. His master had known how he felt. He had seen the hatred, the frustration.

But the most intriguing part came at the end.

> "Within the dojo, you will find what you need for your journey. But it will not be an easy path.

There is something hidden here, something only you can find."

Niran looked up at the master's brother. "What does this mean?"

The man studied him for a long moment before answering.

"That is for you to discover."

The parchment felt heavier than a blade in Niran's hands.

He had never considered the dojo something he would own. He had been just a student. The only student.

The master's brother stood, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet.

"Now you know what he left for you. But it is up to you to decide what to do with it."

"Do you truly want to stay?"

Niran didn't answer immediately. He looked around. The beams, the rooms, the courtyard, every corner of this place was filled with memories.

He knew that if he accepted this inheritance, his life would change. This was not just a shelter. It was a responsibility.

He took a deep breath.

"I will stay."

Once alone, Niran began searching.

The main rooms: Nothing unusual. Just the items his master had always kept.

The armory: Swords, staffs, and training equipment. Everything in order.

The storage room: Dried food, scrolls, maintenance tools.

Where was the secret his master had spoken of?

Niran stopped, breathing heavily. The wound pulsed harder now. He was pushing his body too far.

He looked at the parchment again.

"There is something hidden here, something only you can find."

He closed his eyes for a moment. His master had always guided him, even without words.

What was the most important thing his master had taught him?

Discipline.

He sat cross-legged, regulating his breathing as he had been trained to do. If the secret was truly here, then he had to look with different eyes.

But exhaustion hit him like a sudden storm.

The pain, the fatigue, the hunger. It was all too much.

His breath slowed, his muscles relaxed. His eyes closed on their own.

The world faded into silence.

And for the first time in days, he allowed himself to rest.