Power of Zero

The whispering silver hilts of the Twin Stars seemed alive in his grip, the flowing metal constantly shifting, undulating like liquid captured mid-motion. Cipher could feel the subtle pulse beneath his fingers, as if the blades themselves were testing his resolve. He couldn't see them—Yuri had made sure of that. The blindfold wrapped tightly across his eyes forced him to rely on every other sense.

His breath echoed louder in the darkness. The courtyard felt vast, empty, except for the soft crunch of dirt underfoot and the steady rhythm of Yuri's breathing across from him.

"Ready yourself," Yuri's voice broke the silence, calm but commanding.

Cipher spread his feet shoulder-width apart, trying to mimic the stance she'd drilled into him all morning. The hilts shifted slightly in his hands as he raised the Twin Stars, their mirrored white blades shimmering faintly with the same unearthly energy that lived in their cores.

"Focus, Cipher," Yuri reminded. "These weapons respond to your intent. If you don't mean to cut, they won't. Keep your mind sharp. Picture it—what you want them to do. Remember, they're an extension of you."

Cipher exhaled slowly, nodding.

He felt Yuri move, the soft scrape of her foot against the ground. Cipher reacted, twisting his body and bringing his right blade upward. The clash of wood against steel rang out as Yuri's practice staff struck against the flat of the Twin Star. The impact vibrated up his arm, and he stumbled back a step.

"You're hesitating," Yuri said sharply. "You're holding them like sticks. They're not sticks, Cipher. They're blades. You're fighting me as if you're scared to hurt me. But you can't hurt me. Do you trust me?"

Cipher swallowed hard, nodding.

"I trust you... but—"

"Then stop holding back!"

Yuri's next strike came faster. Cipher barely raised the left Twin Star in time to catch it. The impact jarred him again, making his muscles ache from the force. He could hear her circling him, silent but present.

"You're afraid," she continued, voice softer now. "These swords were made for you, Cipher. But you're not using them. You're afraid of their power. Afraid of what you'll do with it."

Cipher gritted his teeth. She was right. The blades—despite their beauty—felt foreign. He didn't want to hurt anyone, especially not Yuri, even though she had assured him she could handle anything he threw at her.

"I don't—"

A sudden burst of movement. The staff came low, sweeping his legs. Cipher reacted too late. He fell hard, back slamming into the dirt, his breath knocked from his chest.

"Again," Yuri said without sympathy.

Cipher staggered back to his feet, blades shaking in his hands. His arms ached. His chest heaved. Focus...focus...

The problem wasn't his body. It was his mind. His thoughts were scattered. Why am I struggling?

The blades pulsed faintly, almost...dull.

Intent.

The idea struck him like lightning. He'd felt it before—the spark when he wanted to protect himself. That's when the Twin Stars felt sharpest. But now, he was holding back. His mind wasn't thinking about cutting. He was too cautious.

Cipher took a deep breath, adjusting his grip. He imagined the edge—not dull, not safe—but precise. Cutting. He pictured the white blades slicing cleanly through the air, a force honed and lethal.

"Good," Yuri said, as if sensing the shift. "Now show me."

This time, when Yuri moved, Cipher reacted faster. The left blade sang through the air, meeting her staff with a sharper, brighter ring. Sparks flared. His body felt stronger, more sure of itself.

But the moment he felt the power surge, doubt returned. I don't want to hurt her—

The blade dulled instantly. The next strike knocked the sword from his hand.

Cipher staggered back, panting.

"You lost it again," Yuri said flatly. "You can't waver like that. You control the blade. If you don't believe it, it won't believe you."

"I—I don't want to hurt you!" Cipher shouted, his voice echoing in the vastness of the subspace courtyard.

Yuri was silent for a beat. Then she sighed. "Cipher... hurting someone in training isn't the same as harming. I'm teaching you how to survive. When nightmares come, they won't hesitate. They won't hold back. If you can't commit to the fight, you'll lose. You'll die."

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

"But..."

"Listen," Yuri said more gently, stepping closer. "This world isn't fair. Those blades—" she motioned to the Twin Stars, "—they were given to you because you have a choice. You can choose to fight with purpose. To protect. To save. That's what your intent should be, Cipher. Not harming me. Protecting yourself, and others. Understand?"

Cipher nodded slowly, bending to pick up the fallen blade.

This time, when he raised both swords, he closed his eyes under the blindfold and pictured the reason he was here—the kids in that orphanage Axel mentioned. The pain he left behind. His purpose wasn't destruction; it was to stop suffering.

"Again," he whispered.

Yuri smiled faintly. "Good. Again."

The blades flared brighter as he lunged forward.