The wind was colder than usual tonight, as if the air itself knew the weight I carried. Each step I took along the forest path felt heavier than the last. My limbs were strong—trained to endure pain, molded through years of discipline—but my spirit trembled beneath the surface. Loyalty. Honesty. Integrity.
The sacred trinity of my order. The heartbeat of every lesson, every scar carved into my skin, every hour I spent kneeling in silent meditation while the world passed me by. And I—Kami, granddaughter of the Northern Emperor, warrior of unshakable will—had shattered them all in a single choice.
My fingers curled into fists as I pressed them against my sides, remembering the way my mother once looked at me at my brother’s funeral, with both pride and fear.
“Do not make my mistakes,” she’d whispered under candlelight, her hand brushing my cheek. “Do not give away a kingdom for love.”
But I did.
Or maybe I already had.
The moment I chose to help him—Hara—I felt the fracture deep in my soul. I told myself it was for the greater good. That saving his life, keeping him from the path of no return, was worth any sacrifice. But no matter how I tried to shape it in my mind, it was still betrayal.
I betrayed my teachings.
I betrayed my lineage.
I betrayed myself.
And worst of all, I betrayed him.
Leaves crunched beneath my boots as I moved deeper into the woods, each step echoing with the ghosts of decisions I couldn’t take back. I didn’t come here to find him—but somehow, I knew I would. Like gravity, Hara’s presence always pulled me near, even when I tried to escape it. Then I heard it—the sound of rage. Not just any rage—his.
Fists meeting the earth’s flesh, wood splintering, breath short and sharp. I slowed my pace, creeping through the shadows, until I saw him. There he stood, back to me, his shoulders rising and falling like waves crashing in a storm. His knuckles were bloodied, his chest heaving, the air around him humming with fury and something far worse—emptiness.
He didn’t turn at first. But I knew… he felt me.
Hara always could.
When he finally did face me, it wasn’t the man I knew who looked back—it was a hollow shell wearing his face. His eyes, once full of reckless fire and quiet devotion, were cold now. Distant. As if the light inside him had been snuffed out and replaced by something monstrous. Something he no longer fought against.
I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.
I took a step back instinctively and slid behind the nearest tree, pressing my back against its rough bark. The world spun slightly as I closed my eyes and let the silence swallow me. A single tear broke free. Not for what I had done… but for what I might have just destroyed.
Hara’s soul… was gone.
He wore the darkness now, draped it over his shoulders like a crown. And part of me feared he had embraced it because of me.
I gritted my teeth, swallowing the scream building in my throat. I could still run to him. I could still tell him the truth, beg him to look at me the way he used to—like I was his anchor, not his storm. But it wouldn’t change what he needed now. What we needed.
The matches weren’t over. His fight with Chuulun still awaited. And if I so much as reached for him, I would become his weakness instead of his strength.
So I stayed hidden. I stayed silent.
This was the cost of love.
The cost of choosing one man over an empire.so, And I paid it willingly.
Because no throne, no birthright, no ancient code would ever mean as much to me as he did. Even if he never forgave me. Even if he never looked at me the same again.
I would bear that pain.
I would carry the weight.
Until both our matches were over, I would remain firm in my silence… And pray to the ancestors that, somehow, when all this was done—
He might still find his way back to me.
The forest thinned as Kami moved forward, her feet barely making a sound against the moss-covered floor. Though she had walked away from Hara—her heart breaking, her resolve like steel—her mind couldn’t silence the image of him. That cold, callous look in his eyes. It was the kind of emptiness born only from pain so deep, it no longer had a voice.
She hadn't turned back then. She wouldn't now. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel the sting of it. The wind curled around her, lifting her raven-black hair as it passed. The trees, tall and silent, bore witness to her inner turmoil. Their branches reached toward the heavens like they were pleading with the gods to give her mercy.
But there would be none.
Not for betrayal.
Not for abandoning her order.
Not for loving Hara.
The moon was beginning to fade into the violet haze of dawn as Kami approached the Imperial gates. Her footsteps slowed, not from hesitation, but reverence. Before her stood the high walls of the Imperial Palace—her birthplace, her training ground, her crucible. The place that had shaped her into who she was, and the place she had turned her back on.
The guards at the gate stood straight, their faces unreadable beneath their helmets. She didn’t need their approval. She didn’t need anything but the fire that still flickered in her heart. With a nod, she passed through.
Her chambers had remained untouched. As if time paused here, waiting for her to return. She stripped out of her robe, a bare offering of a sacrifice and knelt before the altar of her ancestors. Three sticks of incense. Three bows. Loyalty. Honesty. Integrity.
She lit them one by one.
"Forgive me," she whispered.
Her voice caught, fragile and hoarse. But she said no more.
There was no redemption in words. Only in action.
She dresses in her training gi—black, form-fitting, with the emblem of her house stitched over her heart. Her swords were already in their place beside the mat. She stepped outside into the dawn-kissed training courtyard, the very one she had bled on since she was a child.
The silence was deafening.
But then her body moved.
A twist. A step. A sharp exhale as her blade sliced the air.
The forms flowed from her as naturally as breath. Each motion sharp and calculated, honed over a decade of unrelenting discipline. The sweat that formed across her brow wasn’t from exhaustion but focus. Steel-like. Cold.
She envisioned Tatsu Hime—her opponent, her reckoning. The AAPW Aerial Champion. She imagined her soaring strikes, her speed, her grace. Kami countered each illusion, practicing her counters with relentless precision.
She whispered her mantra with each sequence:_ "I am the storm. I am the silence before the fall. I am the last thing they see."_
Hours passed. Muscles ached. Blisters reopened. Blood kissed her knuckles. Still, she did not stop. She moved with a dancer's grace, but it was the kind of dance meant for war. Spins became slashes. Falls became attacks.
Every strike,
every breath,
every movement was a message to herself and the world.
"I am still Kami Nakada."
The palace grounds began to wake with the sounds of servants and students. But Kami remained in the training yard, still striking at ghosts. She would not allow herself even a moment of distraction.
No more thoughts of Hara.
No more guilt.
No more mourning.
He had his match. She had hers. And she would be ready.
As the sun rose higher, her instructors quietly watched from the veranda. They said nothing. Not a word. But their eyes spoke volumes. There was respect in their silence. And perhaps a sliver of pride. Kami did not acknowledge them. Her blade remained in motion. Later, when she finally collapsed onto the training mat, her body trembling with exertion, she stared up at the sky through the open ceiling above.
Sweat matted her hair to her cheeks, and her breath came in shallow bursts. But her heart was steady. She had walked away from the man she loved, not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much. He needed to finish his journey. As did she.
FLASHBACK: —
As the sun rose on the third day Kami has Hara locked into a triangle choke. That scene starts to replay in her mind. She is being held as Svetlana beats on her, but it is not Svetlana it is Hara. Pounding her midsection with clubbing blows. Hara with a sinister smile on his is face, beats on Kami. Kami’s eyes grow dark, as her expression changes, to one of pure hatred. She pulls Hara’s head down tighter into the chokehold she has locked in. Hara’s breathing begins to shallow as he starts to tap the mat.
Kami lets her right arm go and balls up her fist. She punches Hara straight in the face, breaking his nose. She lets go of the chokehold and jumps on top of Hara, punching him repeatedly in the face and the side of the head. Kami screaming in Hara’s face.
“Why? Why did you do that to me? I thought you cared! I thought you would protect me! I thought you loved me!”
Hara reaches up and grabs Kami’s arms, holding them tight to her side. He pulls himself up still holding Kami. He looks deep into her eyes. She kicks at him, but he takes the kicks without flinching. She tries to break free from him, but Hara pulls her into him and hugs her tightly. She tries to break free, but he is holding on too tight. She looks into his eyes, tears streaming down her face.
“I.. I trusted you.”
Hara looks down into her emerald, green eyes, blood dripping from his nose. Hara lets go of her wrists. He cups her face in his hands. Using his thumbs he wipes away the tears from her eyes.
“Tenshi I will always be there for you. I will always protect you. I will always love you.”
Hara leans down and softly kisses Kami.
That was the first time anyone had told her that without expecting something in return. The memory faded as the light shifted across her eyes. She sat up. Her breath deepened. Focused. She rose to her feet and walked to the edge of the training platform, eyes scanning the distant hills beyond the palace wall. Another flashback swelled—this time from Hara’s view.
FLASHBACK - HARA'S POV
The dojo echoed with the sounds of combat. Hara’s fists bled, his body bruised, but nothing hurt more than the silence Kami left behind when she walked away from him. He had stood there, breath ragged, after she slid behind the tree—sensed her presence like a ghost lingering. He didn’t need to see her to know she was there. But when he turned and saw only shadows, he allowed the darkness to consume him.
The pain in his chest twisted into something unrecognizable—rage. His fists found the nearest target, a training post shattering beneath the weight of his fury. Still, deep down, some part of him had hoped she would return. Tell him this was all some mistake.
But she didn’t.
She left.
And he became something else entirely.
BACK TO PRESENT
Kami bowed once more to the edge of the mat, the scent of sweat and blood clinging to her skin. She looked skyward. She could almost hear his voice in the wind. “Tenshi, I will always be there for you. I will always protect you. I will always love you.” But she had to forget that now.
Not for love.
Not for a throne.
For herself.
So she laid there—broken but unyielding, heart aching but still defiant—beneath the morning sun. She had traded thrones for truth, crowns for conviction, and in the silence between each breath, she found resolve. Hara would always be the scar she chose, the wound that taught her how to bleed with purpose. But she wouldn’t chase ghosts, and she wouldn’t beg fate.
When their paths met again—if they ever did—he would find not a girl who shattered for love, but a warrior who rose from it.
She would fight.
For the past she buried.
For the future she carved.
For the fire still burning in her name.
"I am still Kami Nakada, The Imperial Guard to the palace!"
The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, casting a blood-orange glow through the high, shattered windows of the training facility. Shadows stretched long across the arena floor as Kami stood alone in the center of the battlefield, her breath steady, her body coiled like a spring. The walls around her were stained with sweat, smudged with ash, and speckled with blood—not hers.
Her combat training was complete. Every punch, every strike, every dislocation and decimation had been engraved into her muscle memory like a second language. Now, her training had shifted. This was not just about outlasting an enemy.
This was about erasing them from existence. The arts of aerial assassination—the most lethal form of close-quarters death—had become her new obsession.
High above her, the rigging groaned under her weight as she ascended effortlessly, fingers nimble, grip secure. With each climb, she felt her heartbeat slow rather than quicken—another sign she was adapting, evolving, becoming what she needed to be.
A single mannequin stood below—life-sized, armored, painted with vital points that glowed faintly under the UV lights. Her eyes narrowed. She pushed off the beam. Her first descent She flipped midair, body tight, knees tucked. At the final second, she extended, crashing her boots down onto the mannequin’s chest. The artificial ribs cracked with a realistic shatter. As she landed, she drove her elbow into the throat zone—another critical kill point. The figure crumpled.
Second descent
From a greater height this time, she launched into a spiraling corkscrew. Her heel met the back of another target's neck, precisely at the juncture of the cervical spine. Her blade—drawn in midair—slashed across the carotid line before her feet hit the floor. The dummy hit the mat before the last droplet of synthetic blood even spilled.
Live test
Two prisoners—traitors captured from a rival faction—were chained in the kill zone. Kami didn’t flinch. From the rafters, she dove like a falcon, arms wide, daggers in hand. One blade buried into the side of the first man’s neck; the other slid between the ribs of the second, angled up into his heart. Both were dead before they hit the ground. She landed in a graceful crouch between them, never breaking stride as she moved on.
Then the final test Three stories up. A freefall dive. No weapons. Only velocity and bone. She locked eyes with the last target—a towering brute of a man, padded but breathing. He didn't have time to react. Kami twisted in air, knees bent, and crashed down onto his shoulders, shattering his collarbone and slamming him spine-first into the metal flooring. She rose over him, hands slick with blood, and whispered coldly, “Kill point,” before snapping his neck.
Her instructors said nothing.
There was no applause. Only silence. And in that silence, Kami stood tall, her skin glowing under the dim arena lights, her chest rising and falling with perfect rhythm. Her body was a weapon. Her mind, a storm. Her heart—if it still existed—was locked behind layers of ice and purpose. She wiped the blood from her cheek, approached the viewing deck, and looked up at her reflection in the observation glass. Cold. Composed. Calculated.
Then she whispered to the empty arena— “I am Perfection.”
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