Torn threads

"What?"

Sartor couldn't utter another word. The question was simply too strange—like a genie offering to grant any wish, only to watch someone ask for a cup of coffee. He couldn't help himself; he asked:

"Tell me, aren't you curious about what lies beyond that shadowed forest? What the world looks like? Whether humans still exist, or if they've been wiped out by the beasts that now roam the earth? Doesn't that matter to you?"

For the first time in who knows how long, a quiet smile appeared on Sartor's face.

"I'm not interested. And even if I were, would you tell me anything?"

"Boy… you never cease to surprise me."

Tian nodded, then placed a hand on Sartor's shoulder.

"You're right. My contract with your grandfather covers your treatment and a few basic martial arts lessons. It *explicitly* forbids me from telling you anything about the outside world."

– Tian struck Sartor's shoulder. The boy collapsed instantly. –

"The word *curse* is a woeful oversimplification of your condition. The root of your suffering branches from a type of dark magic known as *voodoo*. But that applies only to your eye. Your arm, your body… those are something else entirely."

Sartor placed a hand over his eye as he stood up again to face Tian.

"So, Master... what now?"

"Hmmm… I understand your condition now. Start running laps inside the dojo. Don't stop until I tell you to."

Sartor began to circle the dojo. His steps dragged sluggishly, more a shuffle than a run, as if his legs resisted every motion. The space was unexpectedly vast, with a high ceiling from which dim oil lanterns hung like watching eyes. The wooden floor groaned beneath him, echoing faintly into the surrounding stillness.

The walls were pale gray, devoid of ornament, bare save for the shadows cast by high, narrow windows where fog had begun to creep in, veiling the glass like a damp shroud. The weak sunlight—if one could still call it that—dissolved slowly until the room was submerged in a cheerless gray. No day. No night. Just a time suspended between worlds.

Tian exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as though tasting the bitterness of an old realization.

"He's so weak… Looks like I'll be staying here longer than I thought."

Two hours passed. Sartor continued his endless circling. Rather than improve, he became like his shadow—lost within a space repeating itself. The fog had fully blanketed the windows. No light remained.

"Alright. You can stop now."

Tian finally spoke.

But the boy didn't respond—either he didn't hear or no longer recognized the difference between command and exhaustion.

He stumbled toward his master on unsteady feet, then, in a heavy silence, collapsed to the ground—unconscious. His body fell like a puppet whose last string had snapped.

The sound of his body hitting the wooden floor echoed through the dojo like a drumbeat in a long-abandoned temple. Tian didn't move at first. He only stared down at Sartor, as if measuring the fragility of this broken doll.

Then—soft footsteps, barely audible.

A wooden door swung open without a creak.

Yasmin entered, like a cold cloud slipping through a crack in the wall.

She approached Sartor without hesitation and knelt beside him, her hands reaching out as though touching a treasure made of glass.

In the same instant, Tian unsheathed his sword with a sharp sound that cut through the silence like lightning. He intercepted two needles that had been aimed straight at him.

The clash of metal was enough to freeze time.

But Yasmin neither flinched nor wavered. She simply lifted Sartor with steady arms, as if nothing had happened.

Turning toward the door, she gave Tian a cool, precise bow—nothing more, nothing less.

"Servant girl, we'll be together for quite some time... try not to kill me every time your young master faints."

Tian spoke with a tone that mingled warning with sarcasm, sliding his blade back into its sheath with deliberate slowness.

Yasmin said nothing. She walked out, her silence making it seem as though the needle attack had been no more than a flicker of light—without weight or consequence.

And once the presence of Yasmin and the faint trace of Sartor's aura had faded from the air, Tian finally allowed himself to retrieve a small box from his robes and began tending to his sword.

*"That boy… he reminds me of someone I met on a rainy day, five years ago.

They share the same aura."*