The Grain of All Things
"The Princess will be staying with us for a while."
That was how Iris put it.
She never said exactly how long "a while" would be. Whether she simply didn't know herself, or had some other reason for keeping it vague, Sian had no way of telling.
In any case.
"...You're back again, I see."
"Haaah... haaah... It's— it's too high up."
"I keep telling you, you need to build up your stamina."
"I keep telling you, you're the one who's a monster."
"And where has Alfred gone, may I ask?"
"He said that since it was just you and Lady Iris up here, he'd go lend a hand with work in the village."
Some days, Iris would teach swordsmanship herself.
"Your sword is not bad, Your Highness."
Even to Sian's eye, Lumine's blade had been fairly sharp. Her form never wavered, and her transitions between attack and defense were smooth and seamless. Iris's assessment, however, was a little different.
"But you are too honest."
"Honest, you say?"
"It's far too obvious where your blade intends to go. A sword the opponent can read and respond to, and a sword that lands before they even have the chance to react — those are two different things."
Each time, Lumine would fall deep into thought.
On the days Iris didn't teach, Lumine crossed swords with Sian instead.
The result was the same every time. A colossal wall stood between the two of them, and it was always Lumine who ended up eating dirt.
Why does he go that far?
From raw physical ability to instinct and combat sense, Sian overwhelmed her across the board. His swordsmanship, at least, seemed to have been drilled into him with real dedication and wasn't bad — but "not bad" wasn't nearly enough to overpower Sian.
And yet no matter how many times she lost, without fail she would be trailing Sian up the mountain again the next morning. For Sian, this was a good thing.
Training alone had its merits, but with a partner to face, he could feel his practical experience accumulating in real time.
For instance, right now.
Lumine's wooden sword grazed the tip of his nose. A feint flowing into a continuous combination — along with the chill of realizing he'd nearly conceded a clean hit, Sian swept her legs out from under her.
"Kyaaaang!"
She pitched forward onto the ground, dropping her wooden sword.
Victory belonged to Sian again today. There was no joy in it, though. He glanced down at Lumine sprawled in the dirt, then turned his gaze back to the boulder.
...Something ought to be coming to me by now.
Ever since Iris had left him with those words, Sian's mind had been filled to the brim with nothing but the problem of splitting stone.
At first, he'd believed it was faith, just as Iris had said.
Just as a single conviction — that he could grow stronger — had carried him this far, he'd trusted that conviction alone would be enough to break the boulder too.
...Maybe I've been trapped inside that idea.
He was still lost in thought when Lumine spoke up.
"...Someone told me something once, a long time ago."
"Everything has a grain to it, apparently."
"Grain?"
Sian turned his head.
Flat on her back, Lumine was using her arm as a pillow and staring up at the sky, an attitude that made it clear the sting of defeat didn't concern her in the slightest.
"Wood, stone, even metal. It looks like one solid mass on the outside, but really it's all countless grains woven together, they say."
"...And?"
"And so when you break something or cut something, a true master doesn't do it with force. They read the grain, find the weakest line, and let the blade flow straight along it. Or something like that."
Lumine pushed herself up into a sitting position with a shrug.
"I only overheard it when I was little, so I don't know the details. But I saw you standing in front of that rock every day looking so deathly serious about it, and it suddenly came to mind."
Sian turned back toward the boulder without answering.
Grain.
It wasn't an unfamiliar word. He had the vague sense that Iris had said something similar to him once — though he couldn't be sure.
But in that moment, he felt something click into place inside his head.
If conviction was the beginning,
then the next step was knowing where to let that conviction flow.
Sian walked slowly toward the boulder.
And then, with his fingertips, he began tracing its surface, as gently as he could.
Iris had been troubled by one thing as of late.
...By now, his aura should have manifested.
Aura was, at its root, a power that slept within the body.
Ordinarily, a person lived out their days without ever knowing it existed, no more aware of it than of their own breathing or heartbeat — but it resided in everyone all the same. Whether one could become conscious of it and draw it out was the first wall separating a swordsman from an ordinary man.
As far as she could see, Sian was already complete.
And yet the single most crucial step — the moment he became aware of what slept in his body and pulled it up to the surface — simply refused to arrive.
...Am I missing something?
Deep in thought, she let out a low groan. In her long, long years she had witnessed countless swordsmen blossom, and never once had she seen a case like this.
Then, one day.
"Master. I've done it."
At Sian's words, Iris's eyes lit up.
She rose at once and hurried after him.
Is it finally happening? Unable to suppress her own hastening footsteps — unusual for her — Iris climbed the mountain in his wake. At the summit, in front of the boulder that had always stood there, Sian readjusted his grip on the wooden sword.
"Watch."
Arms crossed, Iris held her breath.
And Sian closed his eyes.
He stood rooted in place for a long while without moving. Only the sound of the wind and the rustle of leaves filled the silence. Iris felt a flicker of puzzlement, but she did not hurry him.
When Sian's eyes finally opened, his sword was still utterly still.
Nothing resembling an aura could be found anywhere.
...There's no light?
Before her puzzlement could fully settle, Sian moved.
It was not the sweeping, wide-armed swing of before. The tip of his sword reached out toward the boulder's surface, slow and meticulous.
It looked less like cutting something down, and more like following a path that had been there all along. To the eye it felt languid, almost sluggish — yet the instant that trajectory touched the stone, it passed faster than a blink.
Kaang!
With a piercing crack no one could have believed came from a wooden sword, a fissure shot across the heart of the boulder in an instant.
And then, the very next moment.
Kuuuguung—
The massive boulder split precisely in two and collapsed apart to either side.
When the dust settled,
a cut face came into view, so smooth it was as if the stone had been divided that way from the very beginning.
Iris froze on the spot.
"...How— how is this possible."
"I read the grain."
Sian answered between ragged breaths.
"I didn't force my strength against the whole rock. I found the single weakest line and let the sword flow along it."
Iris could say nothing.
Not a single thread of light had ever gathered on his blade.
And yet the boulder before her had split in two with a single stroke.
"...Master?"
Sian tilted his head at her silence. Only then did Iris come back to herself, her gaze darting between the split stone and his face before she finally spoke.
"...Would you come here a moment?"
Still puzzled, Sian did as she asked without protest. Under the shadow of some vague, uneasy premonition, Iris seated him where she indicated and took her place behind his back.
"This will hurt a little."
Looking back, she had never once done this before.
Aura was, in essence, no different from life itself. Some carried it strong and some weak, but every living, breathing being was born with it — without exception.
So confirming its presence was no great feat at all. It was as basic as taking a pulse to feel whether the heart still beat — the humblest of examinations.
And yet Iris had never once done it.
Awareness, after all, was something a person had to reach on their own.
So she had only ever watched. Not to check whether the power was there or not, but to watch for the moment it woke of its own accord.
That was her teacher's duty, as she had learned it.
"This will hurt a little."
But this time was different. If she had been overlooking something all this while, she needed to know before it was too late.
No sooner had the words left her mouth than her fingertips pressed down along Sian's back — tracing his spine, vertebra by vertebra.
"Kgh...!"
A low groan escaped him.
It felt as though something searing was sweeping across every spot her fingers touched. But Sian clenched his teeth and endured. He had known far worse pain than this.
Iris's hand traveled down the spine to his dantian, then along the meridians branching through his limbs.
And then—
...Nothing.
No aura could be felt where it should have rested in his dantian.
Not even a latent current flowing through his meridians registered at all. As though nothing had ever existed there from the start, the inside of Sian's body was not merely quiet — it was hollow.
Iris's hand stopped dead.
Impossible. Convinced she must have misread something, she swept her hand down his spine once more.
Still, she felt no aura.
Aura was something every human carried from birth, without exception. There was stronger and weaker, greater and lesser — but a total absence did not exist.
That was a truth she had learned over a lifetime in this land, one she had never once thought to question.
If an exception existed, then that would mean—
"...Master?"
Sian asked, turning to look back at her.
Iris still could not bring herself to withdraw her hand. She simply stared down at his back.
"...You."
Her voice trembled, ever so slightly. As though she were repeating an impossible fact to herself, she spoke in a low murmur.
"You have no aura."
"...I'm sorry?"
Sian's eyes went wide.
"What do you mean—"
"Exactly what I said."
Iris slowly withdrew her hand and met his gaze, her face full of disbelief.
"There is nothing left anywhere in your body that could be called aura. Not a trace."
The silence pressed down heavily between them.