It's been several weeks–no, months already. I was nearly kidnapped and sold in Vilpamolan by a group in the criminal underground. Eventually I was able to break free, but not after being used by a hateful being to sow seeds of discord and bloodshed. After I left I wandered, with no reason or purpose in mind. I just…needed time. Time to come to terms with what he had done. What I had done. I still remember that name; it's more like I can't forget. Every time I think about it I keep going back and forth between blaming myself and hating how he misdirected me into giving justification for killing a group of cutthroats and murderers in cold blood. I went numb on the inside for the entire week after it had happened. I couldn't take any jobs once I was in Adeluna again because of that. I tried to think my way through the events, searching for anything I could have done that would have prevented it; if only I had the chance to turn back time. But time doesn't stop for anyone. It marches on, bending neither to deity or man.

The second week I sank into despair. The realization just finished setting in. After days of replaying it over and over in my head, I was left with only one conclusion: I was too weak. If I had managed to avoid being knocked out, or fought off my captors before being sent onto the wagon–I would have never crossed paths with Logan Blackwood. And I wouldn't be here, holding my head in my hands with the feeling of a noose around my throat. It's guilt, I recognize the physical sensations from the few times I relieved some grieving souls of their burdens. It hurts so much more when it isn't from someone else. But I don't have anyone who can take this away from me. Maybe I could go back to the crystal temple near Ataiyo, but what then? How am I supposed to tell that deity that I inadvertently told a vampire to slaughter a group of assassins so they would pay for their crimes? He wouldn't hate me, I know that. The most I can expect is for him to shake his head in disbelief, or try to help me feel better. That's not what I want. I don't want condolences or pity. I want to erase the accident of that horrible night, and make it so it never happened. 

The only way I can prevent this from happening again, is to become stronger in every way. An ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure. The only way to ensure history does not repeat itself is to nip it in the bud. My current capabilities aren't good enough, so the least I can do is learn from someone better. I've heard rumors of Nisshoki's famed armored warriors. If they have trained swordsmen, then they should have masters to teach them.

"…'Kyoshiro Ogami, a former horitshi warrior now retired and serving as a master of his own training school in martial arts'. It should be around here, a school's pretty hard to miss out here in these trees." It was a habit of these teachers of the martial arts to set up private facilities out in the remote areas of the region, off the beaten path. There was probably some conceptual or cultural reason why, but Shiloh didn't really care about that right now. Her gleaning of information from the city left her with a vague description of the school's location, and even then the people whom she had gotten it from kept advising her to find someone else. When asked if it was related to the master of the school's capability, they denied it but kept acting as if they were withholding something. If they weren't willing to be frank with her, then she'd go see the man herself.

Pushing through trees and foliage, she found the traces of a well-traveled path tucked away in the overgrown weeds. Following the trail took her up the slopes to a higher elevation, until she saw the signature curled-corner roof unique to Ataiyo's architecture. Approaching the school's front entrance she heard the voice of a man berating someone harshly.

"I don't have time to teach a buncha greenhorns the bare fundamentals on basic swordplay! Do I look like some kind of sap that takes in charity cases? Get outta my sight! I'm not wasting my time on some kid who doesn't have a backbone."

His head was bowed, eyes closed, and his hands shaking. He had heard of the horitshi of Ataiyo, and of their honor and valor. It was true he had learned swordplay from his tutors, but it was painfully obvious that his skills were lacking. Perhaps he could defend against a drunken thug with a knife, but Cymbel had no confidence that he could say the same for a sober, better-armed opponent. With hopes held high, he had asked and searched for a skilled master who was willing to teach a student. Unfortunately such schools did not accept just anyone, and there were also training fees if you were deemed worthy to be considered their pupil. Information regarding private tutors were not as reliable, which was partially why he was so insistent on finding a recognized school of martial arts. This was his third time walking out into the remote countryside of Nisshoki in hopes of not being turned away. But based on how things were going now, he would have to prepare for a fourth.

The master of the school, Kyoshiro Ogami, was formerly a horitshi back in his younger days. The man was now retired from his duties, and had opened a swordsmanship school to train aspiring future swordsmen. What Cymbel didn't know, was that most of these students were the children of other former horitshi and therefore they had connections. It was more like Ogami couldn't deny them, even if they weren't excellent. It was likely due to this social quandary that the man was so irritable, especially to those wholly inexperienced seeking to learn from a master. To him the fey was just another person trying to take advantage of his good graces and reputation to further their social status, and was why he was being so openly hostile. As much as the man's words stung, Cymbel knew it was the truth. He really was a greenhorn, and wasn't very courageous either. If he were, then he wouldn't be trying to learn how to better defend himself.

"Please sir, I understand you don't take beginners–but I'm willing to work hard and learn! I won't ask to pay less than the others for lessons!" He was begging, half out of desperation and half out of fear. At this point he couldn't even maintain eye contact, lest his entire body lock up from terror. The man grunted in disdain, and when he moved his hand Cymbel automatically covered his head with his arms. Expecting another verbal lashing, he and Ogami were both taken by surprise by an unknown voice interrupting them. "…Hey, is this the school where a 'Kyoshiro Ogami' teaches swordsmanship?" Ogami lowered his hand and folded his arms across his chest, glowering down at the newcomer emerging from the maple trees. "Yeah? What do you want?" Without hesitation the person answered. "I would like to train under you as a student in your school."

No longer cowering, Cymbel turned to the person in shock. This would definitely set the man off now. Two people asking to study under him in the span of ten minutes? The fey was sure the man would erupt. Ogami's eyes glared daggers and his face was beginning to redden. Turning his head to the side, he spat into the undergrowth. "HAH! Another one of those kids who think they can play hero? Get lost–this isn't a primary school. I said I don't have time for amateurs!" The man's ire redirected at the person clothed in a simple tunic and a few pieces of leather armor, it was looking like they'd both be ignored without being given a chance. However the new arrival wasn't going to let the sword-master walk away so soon. "You know, I came here because I heard this place was being run by a former horitshi captain. One of the best of the best, they said. Looks like all that talk of that famous sword arts school was just a rumor after all."

That comment was just enough to make the former horitshi stop in his tracks. Cymbel was stepping off to the side as the man slowly turned around, knowing he would be furious. The newcomer had just called into question this man's integrity not only as a man, but as an experienced swordsman. And from how this Kyoshiro Ogami had shown through his actions, there was no way he was going to let anyone besmirch his name and honor. Holding his breath, Cymbel was slowly backing up into the branches of the overgrown pine trees that were so common here.

Just as expected, Ogami couldn't ignore someone thinking less of him, especially when it came to his status as a warrior. Though she wasn't proud of the tactics she used, the only way to get through his high and mighty mindset was to force his hand to defend his honor. A common belief among veteran warriors was to only respect their superiors while maintaining their own superiority. In layman's terms, they only acknowledged the strong. The man retaliated by throwing a wooden practice sword at her, which she dodged. The carved piece of wood lodged itself into the trunk of an old pine trunk, at least a few inches in. If it wasn't for her usual poker face, she would've shown a brief moment of anxiety. She had been expecting him to fight back, just not indirectly and him throwing a weapon caught her by surprise.

Her heart rate was slowing back down after the initial rush from a perceived threat. Knowing that calling him out would only get her so far, she changed her tone. The purpose of her previous words was to get his attention, not to pick a fight. She was still essentially trying to ask him for a favor. Ogami was mildly impressed by her reflexes, but wasn't letting himself look like he'd be easily persuaded. Even if she pointed it out he'd deny it to his death. The subtle change in the look of his eyes when she avoided getting hit told her everything. At least the man was easy enough to read. 

"Well well, you at least know how to dodge. So why should I even bother taking you as a student?" There was no mention of the other person who he had scolded earlier. It was as if he didn't even consider the man worthy of recognition. "There isn't any reason, if you're determined to refuse. If you're asking what I can offer as a pupil, then I only have determination and grit to see things through to the end." Approaching, she knelt down on both knees and placed her hands together in a position she had seen subordinates use in supplication to their superiors in Karith. Essentially, she was stating that no matter what she said about him, Ogami was the one with the final say. An acknowledgement of him possessing the higher rank in this situation would appeal to his military background. "And as an entry-level pupil, I understand I will work twice as hard to make up for my inexperience." She continued.

Shiloh then waited in silence for the swordsman's answer. She didn't look up, as she knew her hard stare would be taken the wrong way easily. There was a long pause as Ogami considered the person before him. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny, assessing their build and taking that previous show of reflexive response in as a factor. Shiloh's height, mannerisms, and overall appearance gave the impression of a young lad who had a slightly effeminate face. He didn't think even consider her gender thanks to those mixed signals. Breaking the silence, Kyoshiro Ogami cleared his throat loudly. "…Alright. You might have some potential. We'll be starting training sessions tomorrow after introductions are over. Payments for the lessons are due by the end of the week, so you'd better pay on time. Miss a payment, and you're out. No questions asked. If you're not serious about learning swordsmanship, then you don't belong here."

"I won't forget your generosity; I swear it." Bowing, she then rose to her feet and looked up again. The man who had kept quiet all this time then spoke up, "Sir, if you could–" Ogami turned and stared him down, cutting him off before he could finish. "What're you still loitering around for? Didn't you hear what I said? I don't take amateurs!" He then shooed the man away brusquely. Shiloh watched the scene unfold before her. The soft-spoken man undoubtedly wanted to learn, but Ogami was having none of it. It was probably because of the way he was acting and how he appeared in the former horitshi's eyes. Confidence was what swayed Ogami's opinions, and anything else was taken as a sign of weakness. Slowly, she knelt back down to the ground.This time, she placed herself in a nearly prostrate position, and Ogami noticed she wasn't following behind. He turned to see her kneeling, bowing so low she was almost touching the ground. "What do you think you're doing?" Gathering her resolve, she said: "Unless you take him as a student too, I will not move from this spot." 

Somehow, this person had managed to convince the old horitshi to take both of them in as students. Although he wasn't pleased with having his own pride used against him, he didn't make things any easier. The first sessions of training were tortuous; they spent long hours repeating exercises and at times it seemed as if the swordmaster would give them more than the rest of this pupils. At the end of almost every day Cymbel collapsed onto his sleeping mat with every muscle in his body crying out in pain. The healing spells he knew only reduced the aching soreness just enough to get through the next day of training. This was how he barely got by in the first few months. No matter how hard he pushed himself, it was never enough for the master of the school. Despite completing the daily exercises and sparring practice, he was always told that his movements were either too slow, his technique not consistent enough, and his form too sloppy. Their fellow pupils didn't think to help them, either out of fear of being caught by the school's master or because they felt no need to. It was a painful thought, but perhaps there were people in the world who prioritized themselves above the well-being of others.

The person who had been admitted as a student along with him pushed through the day-to-day sessions with teeth-clenched determination. They both were newcomers in a school of students who had been training under Ogami for years. He didn't know how, but they was able to take the brunt of the swordmaster's discrimination and the silent isolation from the senior students without a word of complaint. Yet even so, there was something frightful in that steely determination and quiet endurance. Cymbel himself couldn't put it into words, but everyone else could feel it whenever they practiced their swordplay and thus gave them a wide berth when they had free time. It was lonely for him, spending every day without a person to talk to. When he tried to befriend the senior students, he felt as if there was an invisible wall erected between them. He was an outsider, left out and pushed to the side again. Just like how things were back before he stole away from Feeorin. 

Some nights, when the moons shone their pale light through the window he quietly shed tears as he told himself to endure it just a little longer. Weren't they all students here? Did they not share a common goal? If so, then why did the atmosphere of this place feel so cold? The master's harshness and the cold indifference of the seniors made the school's hard training much more difficult to bear. Even when sitting down for meals, he noticed how he and the other newcomer were left by themselves. If genuine goodwill couldn't win them over, then what else could he do?

Being left out from the group made it easy for him to be a target of harassment from the less kindhearted students. While Master Ogami wasn't present, often someone's leg would find its way to trip him up or he would find some of his things missing. Eventually the things that were missing were returned, but the behavior continued. All the while, he was using magic to glamour his appearance. If they were already treating him poorly because he was their junior in training, then what would happen if they found out he was different from them? 'Accidentally' bumping into him in the halls and subtle pushing became a daily occurrence. The intense practice sessions and sparring he could take, but this emotional pressure was bringing him to his limit. He couldn't understand why they disliked him so much when he did everything he knew to be likable.

The only time they stopped was when the other new student was around. That person kept to themselves and actively stayed alone, taking a seat in the corner far from the others. They watched the others like a hawk, and most of the seniors were less inclined to bother him under their scrutinizing glare. Many times he heard them whisper and gossip behind the person's back, talking about how they disliked them and ways they wanted to 'put them in their place'. But they never acted on those desires, likely out of fear of retaliation. Being separate from the group had a few benefits. For one, he came to observe the personalities of the pupils in their school. There were some who would follow the lead of others, and some who didn't take part in the harassment but felt intervening was none of their business. The lone student in particular was the most unusual. They were the most calm during practice, and sparring sessions seemed to lessen that cold and forbidding atmosphere around them.

Outside of training, they were nearly impossible to approach. It was as if they were always on guard, physically and figuratively. No wonder they did so well. They picked up the sword techniques quickly, like it was second nature. That didn't mean they executed them perfectly, but attacking and defending came naturally to them. Perhaps they had prior experience in martial arts? He was afraid to ask. 

She may have convinced a stubborn old warrior to accept them in by playing on the man's pride, but Kyoshiro Ogami was not a simple man. For offending him and his honor, he made them both work double time. The retired swordsman worked them like dogs, making her and the other new student repeat exercises again and again until they couldn't move. The man personally saw to it that they were an example to the rest of the school. Ogami was a proud and harsh teacher, almost despotic in his actions. And it showed in how the senior students reacted to their admission. A school is influenced by its master just like how a kingdom is influenced by its king, and she was sure the man subconsciously saw himself as the undisputed ruler. They were both given the silent treatment, the cold shoulder, and the unspoken segregation. Not surprisingly, there were a handful of students who saw their seniority as a status symbol too.

Just because they were here longer, they thought they could push the new pupils around. Having endured it all her life, Shiloh wasn't going to let a group of high-born, firstborn sons do as they pleased. She proved she could take twice the beating of whatever Ogami could offer, and handle it better than them too. She memorized motions, read body movements, and practiced stances until her body felt like lead. And when that wasn't enough, she began working on finding new ways to increase her strength and skill. Soon the others began to notice, and they began to back off when she passed through. Most of them were cowards, never picking fights they knew they wouldn't win and instead waited to take advantage of their strength in numbers. But soon they stopped holding faith in that as well. A few big-headed hotshots in the group acted like they were the bosses when Ogami was gone, and there was some sort of hierarchy system within the seniors. They were the better skilled students in the bunch, and the reason why she and the other pupil were being left alone was because they didn't see them as threats to their position. However, that held no guarantees. People with large egos often had a nasty inferiority complex paired with their hubris.

Constantly improving her speed, reaction time, and precision, Shiloh threw herself completely into her swordsmanship training. She had no time to let the petty insecurities of others drag her down. She hadn't convinced Ogami to take her in for nothing. It didn't matter what anyone else thought of her–she had a goal and that was to master everything the master of this school knew at all costs. With a barely contained ferocity, training dummies and bamboo swords would return broken with greater frequency as she pushed the limits of her mind and body. The other students took notice, and she could feel their stares as they passed her in the school while they whispered while her back was turned. If they knew how loud their chatter was, they'd clam up right away. Unfortunately for them, Shiloh's hearing was exceptional and what they thought wouldn't be heard was picked up by her ears–loud and clear.

When they found they couldn't find ways to bring her down, the other students turned their attention to the one who had started training in this school along with her. Wolves always preferred to attack the weak and helpless ones in the herd. At first it was petty little actions like hiding his things, then it moved on to physical contact. She didn't know him, but she hated watching others bully those who they knew couldn't fight back. The only thing that made a person better than a scrutinizing bystander was action. So she began to stalk the area, keeping her ears to the ground and eyes open for the signs of another 'prank'. Watching from the shadows she easily found out who the culprits were and where the missing things disappeared to. And while they left thinking their actions were a success, she would steal the items back and return them when she had the chance. This was just a temporary solution for a problem, no more than hacking off the top of a stubborn and persistent weed. But until she had more knowledge and leverage, she wouldn't be able to change their minds…at least not yet.

These days of routine practice and training went on for weeks, months even. Soon it felt like every day was becoming the same as the one before it. When a person is happy, time flies by instantly. The same could be said for the inverse; time slowed to a crawl as things which were unpleasant felt like an eternity. It was late in the afternoon and they all had just finished an hour-long session of sparring. His body didn't handle high temperatures well, and he was feeling sluggish and tired. The humidity made it muggy and uncomfortable; his training uniform felt like it was sticking to his skin all over his neck and back. Even though it was the hottest time of the year, Ogami didn't decrease the number of daily exercises. The other students were taking a well-deserved break under the large pine and maple trees that grew in the forest around the school.

One of the senior students had snuck in a watermelon while Ogami was out, and they split it into pieces. Cymbel by now was suffering from mild heat fatigue and just wanted to close his eyes and lie down in the shade. With how stuffy and stifling it was, the slightest of breezes was nice. "Hey." A voice called out from nearby. Turning his head, he saw a hand place a slice of watermelon on a piece of paper rind-side down beside him. "…Here. You look like you need it." Recognizing the voice, he sat up a bit nervous. It was the loner out of the entire school. They normally didn't speak to anyone, so this startled Cymbel a bit. "Oh–thank you." He said, giving a nod of the head as the carefully took it.

"I swiped one when they weren't looking." The student said, breaking the awkward silence again. Noticing they only had brought one piece, he hesitated. "What about you?" They waved it off nonchalantly. "I'll be fine. There's not a lot of pieces left anyway." Feeling a bit guilty, he mumbled to himself. "I see…" Taking a bite, the watermelon was cool and refreshing. It was still cold, and that coolness made his prior fatigue ebb away. He ate carefully, trying not to make a mess while in front of someone else. Admittedly, he was feeling quite self-conscious. With the remaining rind left on the paper, he and the other pupil sat beneath the eaves of the school for a while. Looking down before turning to them, he introduced himself. "My name is Cymbel. Thank you for the watermelon slice, er…" "Shiloh." They answered tersely, filling in the blanks before he had the chance to finish his question. "Thank you, Shiloh."

"…You know, you're really tense. I'll leave you alone if I'm bothering you that much." Shiloh said, standing up preparing to leave. "No–no it's not like that!" He said, tripping over a few of his words. "It's…well nobody's really talked to me before since I started coming to this school as a student." Shoulders slumping, he folded his hands as he turned his gaze to the ground. "It's been a bit lonesome. But then again I don't know anyone here." Leaning back against a post, Shiloh tilted their head back as a mild breeze disturbed the grass in the small patches between the old trees. "Yeah. It's the same for me too. But I'm more used to being on my own I guess."

Things were pretty peaceful as the hours dragged on. The heat was like a slow boiling kettle; once it got going it took a while for it too go down. So far nobody had noticed she was the only female in the entire group of students even after all these months. She had her less than pleasant reputation among the class to thank for that, and it made most people stay at a distance. Nobody bothered to pay attention when she wasn't around, and they didn't go looking for her either…just the way she liked it. Cymbel was the name of the other student she egged Ogami into taking in with her, and she'd been watching him and the others for a while. He didn't have the best constitution, and that perceived show of weakness made him a target for the school's master when he vented his frustrations.

The old horitshi was a talented swordsman, but he was a terrible teacher. All he did was repeat the motions and exercises his swordsmanship teacher had taught him, and gave no additional instruction on how to improve themselves or grasp the concepts more quickly. If she didn't have a knack for imitating what she saw, he'd be giving her an even harder time than what he was already dishing out. As talented as he was, he was not a man who deserved respect. Not with his hair-trigger temper and poor communication skills. It was like he always had a chip on his shoulder, and it was probably glued on. Temperamental, petty, and short-sighted. That was Kyoshiro Ogami.

He must have made some powerful enemies in his past service as a horitshi. If not then what better explanation was there for what happened on that day? While they were idling, suddenly a small angular knife embedded itself into the wooden porch just after Cymbel had moved to tie his sandals. It was faceted and short, like a piece of obsidian, small enough to hide beneath a belt or in a boot. "What was that?! Where did-" Cymbel said, alarmed. She didn't have enough time to give him an answer when she heard the whistling of something heading towards them. "GET DOWN!" Pushing him to the ground, another of the strange knives narrowly missed her head. Then, from the cover of the trees in the forest around them; the shadoka attacked.

Moments ago it had been an idyllic Ignius afternoon; then in a blink of an eye the area around the school turned into a battlefield. People in concealing clothing had emerged from their camouflaged positions and descended upon them like hornets, and pandemonium broke out. Shiloh's talent in combat had saved him from being hit right in the head by a strange small dagger which was more like a knife with no distinct specialized purpose. The students were up in arms, trying to hold off the attackers. The most they had were bamboo swords and wooden practice swords for sparring, while the opposing forces were better prepared and better armed. "Get up, we need to move!" Shiloh's voice shouted as arrows began whizzing through the air. That sharp, terse voice of theirs snapped Cymbel out of his shock and he followed the other's lead into the training hall.

Throwing him a bamboo sword, they grabbed one as the other students were either trying to flee the area or fight back. Even after months of training, he felt his body freeze up when a real fight came to him. He was terrified. Shiloh on the other hand went in with their weapon swinging, like it was a common occurrence. Others took up arms and did the same, but out of everyone Shiloh was the one who reacted so naturally. Taking cover, he tried to follow his new acquaintance's movements as they entered the battle. Focusing his magic, he cast protection on himself as he kept himself as out of sight as he could. Even if he couldn't help on the offense, he could assist the others so they wouldn't fall. The weapons they had were weak, so he enchanted the bamboo and wooden practice swords with holy might. Its effects wouldn't last long, but every bit helped.

The fight was fierce, and most students were soon knocked aside by the better trained fighters. From where he was, he channeled spells of healing and on occasion sent those too injured to a safe place away from combat. Shiloh was still standing, disarming the shadoka warriors and taking their weapons to replace the shattered bamboo swords that broke too easily. The attackers soon noticed Shiloh's competency, and began turning to actively target the swordsmanship student. When three rogue-like individuals in concealing clothing surrounded his new friend, Cymbel cast the strongest spell of protection he had on Shiloh and on the other students who were in the fight. Unable to assist them much more, he looked for other ways to help. Straining his eyes, he saw an archer he hadn't noticed before cleverly hidden in a treetop nearby. The masked figure drew an arrow and was preparing to notch it to fire upon the remaining pupils out in the open.

His heart skipped a beat and he threw a ball of light at them without thinking. Thankfully they weren't expecting it and a small burst of light interrupted their plans, but that made Cymbel quickly hide behind the corner holding his breath. What did he just do?! He should've aimed elsewhere, and what if he had been spotted? What was he doing, hiding here, cowering behind the walls? He should be trying to get help–report this to someone, anyone in the city. But even if he ran, how long would that take? It was then that a kiai roared from behind and a shadoka flew backwards into the trunk of an aged pine. The school's master finally had shown up, and was taking control of the battle at last. Ogami was armed with a real blade and he clashed with a lithe figure in dark brown padded clothing. The shadoka had strange fork-like daggers which had a much shorter reach, but caught the horitshi's blade with ease. Slashing, the retired warrior painted his katana with a swath of red. Wincing, Cymbel closed his eyes before searching for Shiloh in the bedlam. 

Once Ogami entered the chaos, the shadoka began to act strangely. Instead of attacking the students, those who weren't currently occupied turned their attention on him. Though that left those students who had been wounded a chance to escape, this struck him as being very odd. Did that mean these hired assassins weren't interested in eliminating the school's students because their target was actually the school's master? 

They were overwhelmed and poorly equipped, so it was a miracle that she had lasted for so long. Shiloh really hated fighting out in the open with an enemy who readily took advantage of stealth tactics and cover. Somewhat ironic, since if she was in their situation she'd be doing the exact same thing. Holding up offense and defense simultaneously was a challenge that she didn't like having. Dodging both swings from those on the ground and potential arrows from behind or above turned things into a manic dance of survival. She had aura sight fully active, and the overflow of sensory information made her head feel like it was going to split. A thousand and one things were moving around her, sounds overlapping until they became simply noise. With so many things clamoring for her attention at once, it put a strain on her mind and focus.

Throwing one of the strange knives she had seen the shadoka use earlier, she pinned the arm of one to a tree. When she threw another, they opted to tear themselves free leaving behind a bleeding gash and a piece of bloodstained cloth. Through some foreign sorcery, when the thrown knife hit–the shadoka disappeared and a decoy was left in their place. Seeing this she cursed under her breath. Mages–even now they were again giving her grief. With that triggering the reopening of old grudges, she stopped using the techniques Ogami had taught her and decided to not hold back. Snatching the short sword of a disarmed shadoka, she entered an old, familiar stance. Brandishing a blade in both hands, she sucked in as much air as her lungs could before letting out an ear-splitting cry.

It was time…time to vent all the negative emotions that had been stewing inside of her since the first day she entered this school as a pupil. It was time to let all that anger, frustration, and discontent that had been lying so close to the surface boil over. Discontent at discrimination, discontent at being treated worse than the rest of the students, discontent at seeing others pick on the weak out of cowardice. Outrage, jealousy, pride, fear, disdain, seething hatred–she took it all and turned it into a driving force that only the fury of the Circles of Infernos could match. Eyes wide and livid, she could feel her heart race a mile a minute as the adrenaline kicked in. It didn't matter why they attacked or who they were after; she would crush them all.

A burst of energy rippled outward from Shiloh as the shadows swarmed around her. Throwing herself forward, hundreds upon thousands of shadowy hands came forth from the ground and began laying waste to the area. The inky black limbs formed from malice grabbed at everything Shiloh considered an enemy, which in this case was any face she didn't recognize. They took hold of several shadoka and threw them about like ragdolls in the mouth of a dog. Catching one by the leg, she directed the shadow appendage to swing him around, sweeping any of his comrades off their feet and smashing them against the walls. Pummeling them with whatever weapons got into her hands, Shiloh cut a path of devastation around the training hall. Two shadow hands yanked a hidden archer from the treetops, and attempted to pulverize them. However, using that strange magic all that was left was the splintered remains of a wooden doll. Trees were uprooted, the ground was plowed through like a team of bulls had run by. Her assault was causing more damage than the attackers were doing themselves.

Her sudden show of bloodlust forced the shadoka to switch priorities. Instead of going after Ogami, they found her to be a more pressing and immediate threat. Arrows were aimed at her and a few grazed her skin, but some managed to land in her arm and shoulder despite her erratic movement pattern. They slowed her down some, but Shiloh still kept going. Then, one of the warriors wielding some type of chain weapon had caught the end of it around her right leg. The initial rush of her outburst was on the decline, and before she had a chance to free herself he jerked the chain back tripping her. Shiloh attempted to use the weapons in her hands to break her fall, but she was still floored. Seeing the one who had brought her down, she hurled the chipped blade in her hand at his head as hard as she could. He easily dodged the attack, but a high-pitched whistle drew all of the cloth-clad fighters' attention. Abandoning his weapon, he and his allies fled the scene taking any of their injured along.

With the adrenaline's effects ending, she collapsed as exhaustion and pain finally set in. Her throat was dry from hyperventilating, and her legs felt like lead weights had been tied to them. It was then she noticed the arrows in her when she tried to push herself up. Turning off aura sight, her head was pounding and her ears were ringing as the influx of sensory information was cut off. Intense fatigue and dizziness caused her vision to blur. The smell of dirt and blood was the last thing she could recall before passing out.

By the stars and moons above, when it seemed like they would all be wiped out, the shadoka suddenly retreated. Though they had survived the onslaught, the toll was high. Many students were injured, the school and training hall were heavily damaged, and the area surrounding them had been devastated. Master Ogami did not leave the battle unscathed, as he himself bore minor wounds. Coming out from his hiding place, he frantically searched the school grounds for Shiloh. Taking a quick headcount as he checked those who were lying bleeding and injured, he saw the familiar color of a uniform by a pile of shattered training swords. "Shiloh!" Scrambling over in a panic, his eyes widened when he saw the dried blood and arrows sticking from their back. Checking his friend's pulse, he began to break out in a cold sweat when he couldn't feel it. He then checked for it again on the neck, carefully shifting the injured student up to a sitting position. Either it was too faint, or his anxiety was interfering with his judgment so he did one last test. Holding a hand before Shiloh's mouth and nose, he held his breath until he could feel faint breathing. 

He was so relieved–Shiloh was still alive! Struggling as he brought a barely conscious Shiloh back under what was left of the training hall, he spoke half consoling himself and half attempting to keep them awake: "You're going to be alright; hold on just a little longer Shiloh! The doctor will be here soon, so please…stay with me." His voice choked up near the end as he held back from saying the last thing he wanted to say. 'I'm sorry for being weak. I'm sorry that I couldn't help you, even though you were my friend.'  

The attack was reported to the authorities, and while Ogami spoke with the officers, doctors and healers from the city came to tend to the wounded. Pacing by Shiloh's bedside as an Ataiyan woman did an inspection, Cymbel's heart was restless with worry. "Hm…interesting." The doctor mused, a puzzled yet intrigued look on her face. "Are his wounds serious? There isn't any internal damage, is there?" He asked. "No, no. Nothing like that. Luckily none of the wounds were in vital areas, and the arrows won't be too difficult to remove. Did anyone tend to these wounds before we arrived?" The dark-haired woman inquired, preparing a roll of clean bandages. "No, I don't believe so. Is something wrong?" The doctor raised her eyebrows before pressing her lips together in a thin line. "…I see. Well to put things plainly, your friend here has an incredible constitution. Despite having delayed medical treatment, the body has already started the healing process. This is the first time I've ever seen such a strong metabolism."

As the doctor washed her hands in a bowl of hot water, she then turned to him. "I'm going to start removing any foreign material from the wounds, as well as the arrows. Mind going outside for a bit?" Cymbel was a bit confused at her request. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand? Why can't I stay here? I promise I won't get in your way." The doctor gave a quick glance at Shiloh on the bed, then sighed. "Oh boy, so you really don't have a clue. If I remove the arrows, I'll have to also check if there are any other injuries on her that I didn't see right away." "Oh, then that's fi–" Wait. Did she just call Shiloh 'her'? Realization slowly dawned on him as his face began to redden in embarrassment. "O-oh…I see. Well I'll wait outside until you're finished…" He gave a bow before ducking out of the room. "Thanks." The doctor said as he left.

Burying his face in his hands as he sat on a bench outside, he felt like a fool. Now it all made sense when he thought about it. No wonder Shiloh was so guarded. Being the only woman in a school full of men? Of course, that would explain why she took such a standoffish position. She likely hid the fact from everyone so she could continue training. If any of the other pupils found out, they would have told Ogami and he would absolutely have her expelled to soothe his injured pride. But thankfully the damage to the school had been so severe that it would be closed until it was fully repaired. Unsure of what to do once Shiloh regained consciousness, he tried to think of ways to make things less awkward between them.