The courtyard was still—silent save for the hush of leaves shifting in the mountain wind and the soft rhythm of flowing water from a nearby channel. Here, in the open space carved from stone and sunlight, two figures stood poised in perfect contrast: one like a sculpture of calm divinity, the other a storm contained in flesh.
Egeria's blade gleamed faintly in the morning light, held at an angle so natural it might have grown from her own arm. Her posture was immaculate, balanced with the serenity of a mountain lake untouched by time. If there was any tension in her frame, it was not visible to the eye. Her sword—unnamed to all but herself—was more than a weapon. It was an extension of her soul, flowing like water and cutting with the precision of thought.
Across from her stood Kyle, already breathing a little harder from their earlier exchanges. His eyes, however, were focused—not desperate. His stance, open but reactive, mirrored a discipline far beyond his years. He moved like a swordsman born, not trained—each movement a natural extension of instinct refined by effort and trust. And in his hands, the blade he carried shimmered with an ethereal hue: Splendor of Tranquil Waters.
It was the sword she had forged with her own hands—Splendor of Tranquil Waters—a blade unlike any other in the world. Not made merely of metal, but of an emotion Egeria could never name, at least not yet. She had begun crafting it on the very night Kyle had landed his first clean strike against her. He had been only twelve.
She hadn't smiled, not then. But something had shifted in her. In her silence, her hands had moved. As if compelled. As if guided by the ripples his blade had left in her soul.
And now that sword was in his hands. A mirror of him, of his enlightenment in the way of the sword. The name had come to her only at the final stroke of its forging: Splendor of Tranquil Waters—a name meant not just for its flow, but for the boy who would one day become a stillness even chaos could not touch.
Not far from the sparring ring, the honorary cat of the courtyard had draped herself luxuriously across a sun-warmed lounge chair. Buer, with her long legs lazily crossed, an elbow tucked under her cheek and an impish glint in her eyes, watched the exchange like a patron of art observing her favorite gallery pieces come alive. Her lips twitched every few seconds as she thought of increasingly embarrassing things to say to fluster them—her two most beloved people in the world.
Egeria could feel Buer's gaze, could practically hear the teasing thoughts forming like mischievous blossoms in spring. But her focus remained on the young man before her.
Kyle.
Ten years old, he had been, the first time he held a blade. That moment had been etched into her memory as deeply as the first time she had drawn her own. He hadn't clumsily swung the weapon like other initiates, nor hesitated with the wide-eyed awe of children who did not yet understand its weight.
He had felt it. Understood it.
By the end of his first week, Egeria privately admitted he surpassed most of her veteran duelists. Within a year, she had quietly said—though only to Buer in the privacy of late evening—that Kyle was likely the greatest human swordsman alive.
By sixteen… She estimated that Kyle could kill most lesser gods in a straight duel.
And yet—he had stopped improving.
Not in skill. Not in spirit.
But in body.
She'd known it was coming. A truth that no talent, no blessing, no fervor could evade. He was human. Mortal. Fragile.
His muscles had reached their peak. His reflexes, honed to near-perfection, could stretch no further. His bones, once pliable and rapid in their growth, now bore the invisible limitations of maturity. His movements had become too fast for his own body to sustain for long without fatigue.
He had plateaued.
"Your foundation is without flaw," she had told him once during meditation. "But your vessel… is not worthy of your sword."
He had said nothing in reply, but she had seen the quiet in his eyes—like the still point in a whirlpool. Not despair. Not frustration. Just contemplation.
Because he understood.
He had been blessed by the sword itself, born with a body the ancients once called an Innate Sword Body—a soul shaped in the forge of heaven, meant for blades, for refinement, for grace. His path was written in the arc of a strike, in the pause between breaths, in the rhythm of silent footfalls over stone.
If his body had been born of divinity rather than humanity… Egeria had little doubt. He would have surpassed her long ago.
And she—who stood on the precipice of swordsmanship itself, endlessly circling its final mystery for nearly a thousand years—still found herself wondering:
Would he be the one to reach it?
Would he one day walk beyond the veil where even she had paused?
She had named that distant realm The Pinnacle—not a place, but a state. Where blade and soul became indistinguishable. Where time ceased to exist in the moment of a strike. Where a single cut could end battles without drawing blood.
She was close.
So achingly close.
But she had never stepped through.
Buer yawned from her seat, stretching catlike, her voice lilting into the air like a songbird's.
"Egeria, darling, if you stare at him with any more spiritual intensity, he's going to combust. Or propose. Possibly both."
Egeria blinked slowly, expression unchanged.
Kyle groaned. "I'm literally just trying to survive the next bout."
Buer giggled, kicking her legs idly. "You say that, but you're glowing like a boy trying to impress his crush on festival day. Oh—Egeria, if he faints, do catch him gracefully, won't you?"
"I will let him hit the ground," Egeria said evenly. "It builds resilience."
Buer clutched her chest in mock offense. "How cruel! You'd let such a precious blade fall?"
Egeria's gaze flicked to Kyle's sword, shimmering faintly in his hands even now—like a stream caught in sunlight.
"No," she said softly. "Never the blade."
Kyle didn't know how to respond to that. He wasn't sure if she had meant the sword or him.
Maybe both.
He stood a little taller. Gripped the hilt a little firmer.
And when he raised his sword again, it felt a little lighter.
Not because he was stronger.
But because someone believed in what it could become.
And someone else was already basking in the sun, preparing a dozen more teases to fluster him with the moment he missed another swing.
The clash of blades rang out again—sharp, clean, and purposeful. Kyle darted forward in a blur, feet silent on the courtyard stone, Splendor of Tranquil Waters trailing silver arcs through the air. Egeria met him with ease, her movements like flowing silk, each deflection so smooth it felt like the very wind obeyed her wrist.
He pressed harder.
She yielded—not retreating, but redirecting his momentum like a stream guiding a pebble. Their rhythm was beautiful, and Buer knew it. She watched with unabashed admiration, chin propped on her palm, eyes sparkling beneath long lashes.
"Oh my~" she cooed dramatically, drawing out her words like honey, "look at my two graceful dancers… so serious, so intense. Egeria, if you keep gazing into his eyes like that, I'll start to feel like I'm intruding."
Egeria didn't flinch—but her next parry came just a fraction too late. Kyle's strike skimmed her shoulder—not enough to bruise, but enough to score a point.
"Ah," Buer sang, sitting up with mock astonishment. "You let him through~ Were you blushing, my water goddess?"
"I was distracted," Egeria replied curtly, flicking her wrist to reset her blade. She didn't look at Buer. That alone was telling.
Kyle, on the other hand, had absolutely started to blush. "You don't have to say stuff like that, you know…"
Buer raised a brow. "But why wouldn't I? Your form just now—mm, what do humans say? It gave me shivers. All that power coiled so tightly in those arms, and the way you move your hips when you pivot, delicious. Really, if I were your opponent, I'd just surrender and ask for a kiss."
Kyle stumbled. Actually stumbled.
He managed to recover into a defensive stance, barely blocking Egeria's follow-up strike. His grip was slightly off now, and he knew it.
"Stop distracting him," Egeria said with a slight edge. Not angry—just… testy.
"Oh no," Buer pouted, reclining back in her sunspot with a sigh. "You're both so prickly today. I'm only cheering you on! Shall I start ranking your moves by how kissable they are? Hm… That last spin of yours, Kyle? Eight out of ten. But if you tightened your back leg just a little more, it might've been a nine."
Kyle groaned into his sword. "I'm literally fighting for my life right now."
"You're fighting Egeria," Buer said brightly. "Same thing. Except prettier."
Egeria's blade came to a soft halt just an inch from Kyle's collarbone. "Yield."
Kyle sighed, lowering his sword. "Yield."
"Very good," Buer clapped politely, her voice syrupy sweet. "Now, Egeria, why don't you reward him for his effort? Perhaps a gentle touch on the cheek? Or a whispered compliment? Or—oh!—why not cradle his face like the precious blade he is and tell him he was very brave?"
"I will do none of those things," Egeria said coolly.
Buer smiled. "Then do one."
Egeria stared at Kyle. He looked exhausted. Sweating. A bit disheveled. But beneath all that—focused. Enduring. Still standing after an hour of sparring with her, his will unshaken.
"…You have improved," she said, a rare softness in her voice. "Your footwork… is cleaner than before."
Kyle blinked. That was high praise, coming from her.
"...Thank you," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "That means a lot."
"Look at you two," Buer whispered into her fingers like she was watching a romance drama unfold. "So dignified… so restrained… so emotionally constipated. Someone kiss someone, or I will do it myself."
Kyle's eyes widened.
Egeria narrowed hers. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, wouldn't I?" Buer said, rising from her chair with a slow, languid stretch that somehow managed to be elegant and threatening all at once. "I am the goddess of flowers and dreams and now, apparently, encouragement and chaos."
"Your titles have inflated."
"My affections haven't."
She crossed the courtyard in long, graceful strides, stopping just short of Kyle. He stepped back instinctively.
"I'm sweaty," he said in a panic.
"Oh no~" she cooed, leaning forward just a bit. "I love sweaty swordsmen."
"Buer," Egeria warned.
Buer turned toward her, completely unafraid. "Yes, darling?"
"…I will spar you next."
"Oh!" She put a hand to her chest. "Threatened, are we?"
"No," Egeria said, very softly. "Motivated."
The air between them sparked with playful tension.
Kyle coughed. "Should I… leave?"
"No," both women said at once.
He stood awkwardly between them.
"…I'm going to get water," he said, and left.
Buer giggled as he fled.
Egeria watched him go, then turned her eyes back to the lounging goddess with a rare glint in her eye. "You enjoy needling us."
"I enjoy you," Buer said sweetly. "And him. And watching how you both flounder around each other like koi in mating season."
Egeria was quiet a moment. Then, without smiling, she said, "You're insufferable."
"I'm adorable."
A pause.
"…That, too."
Buer beamed.
And from the shade of the cherry tree, the quiet laughter of two women—one serene, one wicked—drifted on the mountain breeze.