Chapter 7: Kagetsume
Kagetsume was already in his hand.
Noah stood alone in the moonlit dojo, its dark wooden floors reflecting the illusion of a pale full moon hanging high above the altar. The dojo’s outlines shimmered in hues of blue and black, the colors of the night — calm, dignified, and dangerous. It felt sacred, like stepping into a preserved memory.
He took a deep breath and began to move.
The blade cut through the air in slow, deliberate arcs. Simple slashes, basic footwork — nothing flashy. His movements weren’t as fluid as they used to be. His balance was slightly off. There was stiffness in his limbs, a fraction of hesitation that hadn’t existed before.
Of course.
This body was young again — sixteen, unrefined, without the tempered strength and muscle memory of his prime. He had to start over, retrain everything from the ground up. Still...
The katana responded.
It turned with his wrist, glided with his momentum, and landed in each stance with the same deadly precision he remembered.
It was like reuniting with an old friend.
After several repetitions, he stopped in place. His breathing steady, his hands relaxed, his grip secure.
Behind the altar, he spotted the sheath — black, elegant, and worn by time. He picked it up and slid the katana into it with practiced ease, then tied it to his waist.