The morning came faster than I expected. Mom shook me awake before the sun had fully risen, her crimson face split with a grin.
"Up, tiny ember! Today we forge your path!"
I rubbed sleep from my eyes, excitement bubbling through my drowsiness. Mother stood behind her, already dressed in a simple blue training tunic, her white hair neatly braided.
"Eat quickly," she instructed, placing a bowl of rice and fish before me. "But mindfully."
After breakfast, they led me along a winding path I'd never taken before. We climbed over moss-covered rocks and ducked under low-hanging branches heavy with morning dew.
The forest opened suddenly into a clearing that took my breath away.
Smooth, packed earth spread in a perfect circle, surrounded by ancient trees whose branches formed a natural canopy. At the far end, a small waterfall cascaded into a crystal-clear pool. Large, flat stones dotted the area, some arranged in patterns, others standing alone.
"This is our family training ground," Kaoru announced, her voice filled with pride. "Your sister trained here. Your brother still does. And now—" she ruffled my hair, "—it's your turn."
"Did you train here too?" I asked, taking in every detail of the sacred space.
"Since we were children ourselves," Ayame replied, her tattoos pulsing with gentle light. "This place has witnessed generations of our clan growing stronger."
Kaoru clapped her hands together, the sound echoing through the clearing. "Enough talk! Time for your first real lesson."
She guided me to the center of the clearing where a wooden dummy stood—weathered and scarred from countless strikes. Kaoru demonstrated a wide stance, feet planted firmly, knees bent.
"Feel the earth beneath you," she instructed. "Draw strength from it!"
She threw her palm forward with a thunderous kiai shout that startled birds from nearby trees. The dummy shuddered under the impact.
"Now you try," she encouraged, stepping aside.
I mimicked her stance, spreading my feet wide. My muscles stretched uncomfortably in positions they weren't used to. I took a deep breath and struck the dummy with all my might.
"KYAAA!" My shout came out as more of a squeak.
The dummy barely moved. My palm stung.
"Again!" Kaoru commanded, adjusting my posture. "Louder! Stronger!"
I tried again and again, my cheeks puffing with effort. By the tenth strike, sweat beaded on my forehead, but the dummy finally rocked backward slightly.
"Good!" Kaoru beamed. "You're getting it!"
Pride swelled in my chest, though my arms felt like noodles. I felt powerful—clumsy, but powerful.
"Yuna," Mother's gentle voice called. "Come here now."
I followed her to the waterfall where she sat cross-legged on a flat stone, motioning for me to join her.
"Close your eyes," she instructed. "Listen to the water. Match your breath to its flow."
The exercise seemed boring after Kaoru's exciting drills, but I tried. Mother occasionally tossed small pebbles my way, which I was supposed to sense and catch.
"Don't react," she corrected when I lunged for one. "Anticipate. Watch. Wait. Then move—just enough."
We practiced balancing on one leg, shifting weight smoothly from stance to stance. No shouting, no striking—just careful, deliberate movement.
"The strongest current isn't always the loudest," she explained. "Sometimes it's the deep, silent one that reshapes mountains."
When we returned to Kaoru's station, something felt different. I stood before the dummy, trying to remember her instructions while also keeping Mother's lessons in mind.
Watch. Wait. Then move.
But waiting felt wrong when Kaoru expected explosive action. My strike came slower, more hesitant. The dummy barely budged.
"What happened to that power I saw earlier?" Kaoru asked, a slight frown creasing her brow. She glanced toward Ayame, who maintained her serene expression.
I tried again, caught between two opposing instructions. My body couldn't decide which path to follow.
"Now let's see what you've learned," Kaoru announced, grabbing a wooden training staff from a rack near the edge of the clearing. She tossed a smaller one to me, which I fumbled but managed to catch. "Face me, tiny ember."
My heart hammered in my chest. I'd seen Mom spar with Renji before—she never went easy on anyone. Even when she held back, her power was intimidating.
"Don't worry," she grinned, reading my expression. "I won't break you... much."
I gripped the staff tightly, trying to remember everything she'd taught me that morning. Wide stance. Strong core. Draw power from the ground.
"Begin!" she called.
Before I could even set my feet properly, she was in motion. Her staff whirled through the air, coming at me from angles I couldn't track.
I managed to block the first strike, the impact jarring my arms to the shoulders. The second blow swept past my clumsy defense and tapped my ribs.
"Too slow!" she called, already circling for another approach.
I tried to attack, lunging forward with a yell. She simply stepped aside and tapped my back as I stumbled past.
"Commitment without control is just wasted energy," she said, not even breathing hard while I gasped for air.
After five more humiliating minutes, Mother stepped forward. "My turn."
I welcomed the change, certain Ayame's calmer approach would be easier to handle.
I was wrong.
Where Kaoru had been a battering ram, Mother was like water—flowing around my attacks, never where I expected. I tried to copy her movements from earlier, focusing on balance and patience, but the moment I committed to a strike, she wasn't there anymore.
"Anticipate," she reminded me as I overextended and she simply hooked her foot behind mine, sending me sprawling onto the ground for the third time.
My frustration built with each failure. I couldn't match Mom's power or Mother's grace. Everything I tried felt wrong—too aggressive for Ayame's style, too hesitant for Kaoru's.
When I hit the ground again, something inside me snapped. I threw my training staff down hard enough that it bounced.
"I can't do both!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "I'm not strong enough or smart enough! You're asking me to be two different people at once!"
I dropped to the grass, pulling my knees to my chest. My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall. Six years old and already a failure.
Mother knelt beside me, her movements fluid and graceful even in such a simple action. She didn't touch me immediately, just settled into the grass.
"You're not supposed to be either one of us, Yuna," she said softly, her indigo tattoos pulsing with a gentle light.
Mom approached from the other side, her movements direct and purposeful. She crouched down and ruffled my hair with her large hand.
"You're meant to be something new," she said, her voice unusually gentle. "Strong and smart. Fire and ice. The best of both clans."
"But how?" I asked, wiping my nose with my sleeve. "Everything I try is wrong."
"Not wrong," Mother corrected. "Unbalanced. Watch us."
They stood together in the center of the clearing. Mother demonstrated a breathing technique, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Then Mom showed how that same breath could fuel a powerful strike.
"The calm centers the storm," Mother explained. "And the storm gives purpose to the calm."
They guided me back to my feet, positioning themselves on either side of me.
"Breathe first," Mother instructed, placing a hand on my back. "Find your center."
I inhaled slowly, feeling the air fill my lungs.
"Now hold that calm," Mom added, "but let your power build beneath it."
I faced the training dummy, breathing steadily like Mother taught me. But inside that calm, I gathered the fire Mom had shown me.
My first attempt was awkward—I lost the breathing pattern the moment I tried to strike. The second was better but still disjointed.
On the third try, something clicked. I breathed in deeply, centered myself, then channeled that focused energy into a single, solid punch.
The dummy rocked back hard, creaking on its base.
"There!" Mom cheered, lifting me up in a spinning hug. "That's our girl!"
For a brief moment, I felt it—not two opposing forces fighting within me, but a single, balanced power that was uniquely mine.
That evening, my arms still tingled with the memory of that perfect strike. Something had awakened inside me—a feeling both foreign and familiar.
For a split second, I'd seen wisps of energy curling around my forearms—crimson and azure intertwining like living smoke.
I caught my mothers exchanging a look when it happened. Mother's eyebrows had risen slightly, her usual composure briefly replaced by genuine surprise. Mom's fierce grin had faltered for just a moment before returning even wider.
They didn't mention it on our walk home, but I caught them whispering when they thought I wasn't listening. Words like "so young" and "unprecedented" drifted to my ears.
I couldn't stop smiling during dinner. Renji noticed, raising an eyebrow over his bowl.
"Good first day?" he asked, his voice measured as always.
I nodded vigorously, my mouth full of rice. "I made the dummy move!"
"She did more than that," Mom boasted, ruffling my hair. "Our tiny ember showed real spirit today."
"She showed remarkable focus," Mother added, her subtle praise making my chest swell with pride.
Later, tucked into bed with the island breeze floating through my window, I pulled out the small leather-bound notebook Mother had given me for my birthday. Most pages remained blank—I hadn't found anything important enough to write down yet.
Tonight was different.
I chewed my bottom lip, carefully forming each character with the stub of charcoal I kept hidden under my pillow. Three simple words that felt like the most important thing I'd ever written:
"Red + Blue = Me"
I traced my fingers over the words, feeling the slight indentation in the paper. Not red or blue. Not one or the other. Both, together, creating something new.
The moonlight cast long shadows across my bedroom floor. I glanced toward my window, then back at my door. Everyone should be asleep by now.
Quietly, I slipped from beneath my blankets. The wooden floor was cool against my bare feet as I positioned myself in the center of the room, where the moonlight pooled like silver water.
I closed my eyes, breathing deeply the way Mother taught me. In through the nose, filling my belly first, then my chest. Out through the mouth, slow and controlled.
With each breath, I gathered that feeling from earlier—the calm certainty, the focused power. My small shadow stretched across the floor as I shifted into the stance Mom had shown me.
One movement flowed into the next—not perfect, not even good yet—but mine. Both fierce and measured. Both passionate and controlled.
Red and blue. Together.
Me.