The clearing no longer carried the tension of battle.
Broken branches lay scattered across churned soil. Boot impressions from the Imperial Oath-Bound Police were still visible in the dirt, though already softening under the forest wind. The assassin was gone. The officers had left without ceremony.
Silence remained.
Darwin stood in the middle of it with a wooden sword in hand.
He did not feel victorious.
He did not feel defeated.
He felt unfinished.
He inhaled slowly.
Forge Breathing.
Iron Tempering.
Air entered deep and steady. His ribs expanded, then compressed. The breath circulated downward, firming his stance, tightening muscle fibers just enough to hold.
His right side remained slightly exposed.
It always did.
He stepped forward.
A curve.
The wooden blade traced a crescent through the air. His hips rotated to compensate for the imbalance in his body. His left leg bore more weight. His spine adjusted mid-motion.
The arc was clean.
The recovery was not.
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A small tremor rippled through his heel.
He reset.
Again.
Step.
Arc.
Hold.
Wobble.
“Still rough.”
Maquish’s voice carried across the clearing.
Darwin did not turn. He simply inhaled again.
Maquish walked closer, boots pressing into bark and leaves. He circled once, observing Darwin’s stance from different angles.
“Your style’s different,” Maquish said after a moment. “So I can’t advise you much.”
Darwin lowered the wooden blade slightly.
Maquish continued, calm and direct.
“Straight lines don’t suit you. And you’re trying to make curves behave like straight lines.”
Darwin frowned faintly.
Maquish stopped in front of him.
“I can’t mimic what you’re doing,” he said. “If I tried, I’d break my own balance.”
Darwin adjusted his footing subtly.
“But I can say this,” Maquish added. “Think about something that moves like you.”
Silence.
“Something that has moments in arcs,” Maquish continued. “And is smooth.”
Darwin’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Smooth.
Maquish shrugged lightly.
“You’re cutting in curves, but you’re stopping like a wall.”
Darwin inhaled again.
Step.
Arc.
This time he allowed the rotation to extend slightly longer before forcing stabilization.
Less wobble.
Still imperfect.
Maquish nodded.
“Better. Still rough.”
Darwin lowered the wooden sword.
The forest wind shifted.
Maquish turned toward the path leading out of the clearing.
“Enough for today.”
Darwin remained still a moment longer before following.
As they left the forest, Maquish’s words echoed quietly in his mind.
Something that moves like you.
Moments in arcs.
Smooth.
He tested his balance as he walked.
His body rotated slightly with each step.
Curved.
Never straight.
But the answer did not come.
Not yet.
The forest swallowed the clearing behind them.
