The second day, on the plane, my father was enthusiastically describing to me how gracefully and skillfully I was in the duel yesterday.
"And there you were - and I bet you didn't realize at the moment - but that last hit was amazing!"
He rambled on for another 30 minutes before finally telling me something important.
"Reiken," He looked at me. "You'll be 16 soon. In our family, you're considered an adult. And we signify that by giving you a sword."
"Wha-" I replied, surprised. "Like, an actual sword, one of those our family swordsmith forged?"
"Yeah. It'll be sharpened too, so you must be careful handling it," He nodded. "I know you're good at kendo, but your shinai doesn't hurt. These do."
"I got it," I said. "Don't worry, oto-san, I'll be careful."
It was 11 hours before the plane landed. Seeing that we got home, my brother ran towards us.
"Little Ken," He chuckled and hugged me. "I hope it didn't hurt too much."
"Nii," I tried not to get squeezed to death. "His shinai never even got close to my body."
"I know, I was just kidding," He released me. "I was watching on the TV. You did great."
"Thanks, I suppose," I rolled my eyes, as I walked to my room to put away some stuff.
The rest of the week was uneventful. Time passed quickly, and it was my birthday. After my birthday lunch, I was called to the family swordsmith by my father. My brother was there too.
"So," My father put his huge hand on my shoulder like he always did. "You're a man now."
He let go of my shoulder and walked in front of me. His face got serious - more serious than I've ever seen him be - and he looked me in the eyes. I almost felt like I never knew him at that moment.
"Kitano Reiken," He said in a solemn voice. "You will now pick a sword. Any sword you see here, any that you like. But pick wisely, and let your heart make the decision, not your eyes."
"Yes," I nodded; it was unwise to fool around during a family ritual. "I shall."
My father and my brother nodded, and stepped away to the sides. I took a step forward and scanned the room with my eyes. There were many swords around, and many different types of them: huge two-handed blades, rapiers, Katate-uchis, Tachis, and a plethora of others; each and every one of them beautifully designed and smithed.
The work of the Kitano family, descendants of the legendary Ganjiang and Moye; it amazes even its own family member.
I walked around the shop, extending my hands many times towards a sword that was visually appealing to me, but I never actually picked one up.
I was spinning in circles for about 5 minutes, unable to decide, until my sight fell on an inconspicuous, rusty sword, lying in the very corner of the shop.
I swiftly walked over and picked it up. It was half-broken and rusty, but no part of it was bent.
I understood the sword. It would rather be broken than bent. Rather die than submit. The true essence of sword art.
I unleashed the sword from its sheath. Dust flew everywhere, the dust covering its ancient edge. It felt perfect. At that moment, I thought I heard the cry of a phoenix. It was less the cry of a ravenous beast than just a beautiful bird, calling out to its long-lost lover. It was so sharply defined, yet so smoothly gentle.
And I did. So did my father and brother, as they stood there in awe, mouths open.
"Can I try this somewhere?" I turned to face my father and brother as I put the sword back in the protective sheath.
"Sure, but it's broken," My brother scratched his head in confusion. "I doubt it will break further if you hit it hard, but-"
"It's all good, brother," I interrupted him. "I just wanted to see its edge under the sun."
He nodded and led me to the backyard, where a few bamboo dummies stood. He then stepped to the side.
I revealed the sword. The shining sunlight dimmed at once under the glare of the blade. I turned to face one of the dummies, holding the somewhat light sword with my right hand.
"Swing," A voice echoed in my mind. "Swing it with all of your power."
I took a deep breath, positioned my right arm behind my back, and in a swift movement, I swung the sword in front of me. The sword glowed, showing a silhouette of a much bigger sword, appear to be its original form. The howling wind kicked up sand, the duststorm roaring violently.
Before I knew it, the deafening sound attacked my brain, and I fell unconscious.
I woke to a light smack on my head. I felt cold metal. I opened my eyes and saw the ancient sword above my head, glowing in an unrecognizable colour.
"Wake up, Reiken," said the same voice. "You have a duty now."
"A duty?" I sat up and scratched my head. "Wait, who are you?"
"I reside in the sword as a spirit," it said. "You can call me Moye."
"Moye? You're not-" My eyes widened at the name.
"I am. At least, I was," Moye sighed. "Well, I'm glad my descendant is doing well."
"I wouldn't call this... well," I examined the scene, only to find myself in a dark, eerie cave. "Wait, where are my father and brother? Where even am I?"