The Mark Of Rebirth

Before Tokei leaves to track down Otome at the Shadow Phoenix base.

Kaelith stepped into the expanse of the hangar, taking in the sight of her by the Airblade. Her face was illuminated by the soft glow of her laptop screen, casting faint reflections in her glasses. The crisp morning air tugged at her clothing—a style familiar to him, often worn by people from Janine and Ishunay, yet it suited her quiet elegance. Beyond the open hangar doors, the snow-capped mountains loomed majestically in the distance, their peaks disappearing into the clouds, while the airfield stretched out like a cold, tranquil expanse. Despite the serenity of the scene, an undercurrent of anticipation buzzed in the air as Tokei, Nanik, and Farthington prepared for departure.

Tokei stifled a yawn, her breath visible in the chilly air. She rubbed her eyes absentmindedly before noticing Kaelith approaching. She managed a faint smile, though traces of exhaustion lingered on her face. "You're up early," she remarked, her gaze shifting back to the progress bar on her laptop, the flickering lines of code lighting her screen.

"I could say the same about you," Kaelith replied as he stepped closer.

Tokei sighed, pushing a strand of her long, purple hair behind her ear. "I’ve been up most of the night prepping for the trip," she admitted. "There’s a lot to take care of before we head out." She paused for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she reached into her coat pocket, retrieving a folded note. She handed it to him. "Since Nanik, Farthington, and I are leaving today, I need you to keep an eye on our… unexpected guest. Make sure she gets a forged identity while we’re gone. This note has all the details on where to go for that."

Kaelith took the note and slid it into his pocket. "Anything else I should handle while you're gone?"

Tokei’s gaze drifted toward the Airblade for a brief moment before she answered. "I just restocked the fridge, so there’s enough food to last a while. I’m not sure when we’ll be back, so you may need to grab more later. And… make sure you keep training. Most importantly, watch Cordellia closely."

"Alright, I got it. I suppose I'll see you when you get back."

"Yes..." Tokei’s voice trailed off as her attention shifted back to her preparations, the gentle hum of the laptop filling the silence.

Kaelith turned and walked out of the chilly hangar into the warmth of the base. After spending so much time here, he knew the layout well. He made his way through the familiar halls, heading toward the employee lounge, his thoughts wandering to how he’d spend his time now that everyone else was leaving. But before he could get too far into his musings, a familiar chiding voice echoed in his mind, the unmistakable tone of Arthur, the sword with a proper Old English accent, running rampant once again.

"Oi, laddy! Thou hast a fine nerve leaving me within the confines of thine unkempt quarters!" Arthur's voice rang in his head, sharp and indignant.

Kaelith sighed, a headache already forming. "Not now, Arthur," he muttered, hoping to shake off the annoyance.

As if on cue, Cordellia emerged from the hallway leading to everyone's rooms, wiping sweat from her forehead with a towel. She wore a baggy t-shirt, shorts, and slippers—her deep red, bob-cut hair in a tangled mess, a clear sign she'd just finished a workout.

"Morning," she greeted casually, her breath still a little labored.

"Morning," Kaelith replied, eyeing the state of her hair with mild amusement. "Been training?"

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I need to recuperate my strength. Figured a workout was a good distraction."

Seeing her reminded Kaelith of the times Tokei had relentlessly bested him and Farthington in sparring sessions, despite all their solo training efforts. The thought sparked an idea.

"Hmmm, I’ve been thinking," he said, glancing down the hallway toward his room where Arthur was still pestering him. "Since Arthur’s with me… maybe you could teach me how to actually use him?"

Cordellia raised an eyebrow, her reptilian golden eyes narrowing with doubt. "You want me to teach you how to wield a longsword?"

"Yeah," Kaelith nodded, feeling more certain of the idea as the words left his mouth.

She crossed her arms, eyeing him with skepticism. "Are you sure you’re up for it? It’s not just swinging the thing around. It takes discipline to use a sword properly."

"I’ve got discipline," Kaelith replied, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Besides, Arthur’s been nagging me to start training with him, and it’s not like I’ve had many chances to learn."

Arthur’s voice chimed in again, this time sounding more approving. "Verily, a most splendid idea! Cordellia shall instruct thine hapless soul in the noble ways of swordsmanship. But I implore thee—come and retrieve me at once!"

Cordellia sighed, clearly weighing her options before finally relenting. "Alright, fine. But don’t expect it to be easy. It's going to hurt, and I’m not going to go easy on you."

Kaelith tried to sound confident as he replied, "I wouldn’t expect you to. So, when do we start?"

"Now." Cordellia pointed toward the door leading out of the room, her tone serious. "Get ready." She began to walk out but paused, looking slightly embarrassed. "By the way… where exactly is the training room?"

"I’ll take you there."

Arthur's voice cut in once more, exasperated. "The two of you will be the death of me! Children these days have no respect for their weapons!"

After retrieving Arthur from my room, I met back up with Cordellia, and together we headed to the training area. The section we entered was specifically designated for sword training. The air inside felt different, charged with the weight of discipline and practice. Training dummies, worn from countless sessions, stood scattered around the room like silent sentinels awaiting their next test. Along one wall, a neatly arranged rack of wooden training swords gleamed softly under the warm, amber light that poured down from the ceiling. The floor, polished wood, gave the room a scent of timber and sweat, creating the atmosphere of an old dojo—a place where skill was forged through repetition and hard work.

Cordellia moved toward the rack, her footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet room. She examined the wooden swords briefly before selecting one with practiced ease, its weight seeming perfectly suited to her. She turned toward me, her expression serious but calm.

"I’ll show you the basics of how to swing a sword," she began, her voice steady but laced with authority. "We’ll start with the most fundamental move: the basic overhead swing." She raised the sword slightly as she explained, the wooden blade catching the light. "One hand should grip the hilt near the guard, while the other rests near the pommel. When you strike, raise the sword above your head, and bring it down in a single, fluid motion."

Without missing a beat, Cordellia demonstrated. Her movements were graceful, almost instinctive. She raised the sword above her head as if it were an extension of her body, her muscles rippling subtly beneath her skin. In one swift motion, the sword sliced downward with precision. The room seemed to hold its breath as she swung, the air around her bending to the force of her movement. There was a gust, a rush of wind that stirred the edges of her shirt and sent a light breeze through the room, swirling dust motes caught in the golden light. The sound of the sword cutting through the air was sharp, almost like a whip cracking, but her form remained fluid, as if it had taken no effort at all.

I stared, momentarily mesmerized by how effortless she made it seem. The sword, though wooden, moved with the weight and speed of something much heavier, and yet Cordellia handled it with her posture never faltering.

She turned back to me, her reptilian golden eyes narrowing slightly. "That’s the overhead swing. Simple, but it’s the foundation of many techniques. You’ll be doing a lot of this before we move on to anything more advanced."

Her calm demeanor belied the strength she had just demonstrated. Even with a training sword, the power behind her swing had sent gusts of wind rippling through the room. I swallowed, realizing that learning this wouldn’t be as easy as I’d imagined.

"Your turn," she said, stepping aside and motioning to the rack of swords.

I moved toward the rack, pulling out a wooden sword that felt awkward in my hands compared to Arthur’s polished form. The weight was strange, but I tried to mimic the way Cordellia had held hers—right hand near the guard, left hand near the pommel. I raised the sword above my head, my muscles already tensing under the unfamiliar strain.

"Relax your shoulders," Cordellia advised from beside me, her voice calm but firm. "You’re too stiff. Let the sword flow with you, not against you."

I adjusted my grip, trying to loosen my stance. Taking a deep breath, I attempted the swing, bringing the sword down in what I hoped was like Cordellia’s swing. The sword came down with a thud, but it lacked the grace or force that Cordellia had demonstrated. No gust of wind, no whip-like crack—just a clumsy swing that made me realize just how much I had to learn.

Cordellia nodded slightly. "Not bad for a first try, but we have a lot of work ahead of us. Keep practicing. Over time, the movements will become second nature. I’d say you need to do 300 swings today before you can leave this room."

“Th-Three Hundrend?!”

Cordelia suddenly had a cold expression on her face “You said you were prepared even though I said it wouldn’t be easy.”

“Uh, right… “

“Then you best get to it.”