Inaki sat at the steps which led to the garden outside his room, once again disappointed in himself. He had lost almost all of his duels, and the only one he had won was against a boy who had just gotten his spear.

He stared at his own hands, they were shaking, but not because of his tremor. He stood up and walked through the garden, thinking.

How am I supposed to even survive against Farrow if I can’t defeat a few Woodens. Inaki thought. He picked up a wooden sword and ran at the tree, he slashed at it, and a few leaves began falling. Leaves fell slower than apples, so this would be an easier progression for Inaki.

Inaki’s timing was still off, the leaf went just under his sword. Inaki once again slashed at the tree. He turned back, and slashed at another falling leaf, and this time, he slashed too early, the leaf was still above his sword.

Inaki continued this training exercise for the next hour straight. He hit a few leaves, but his accuracy was about hitting one leaf in every ten.

When Inaki got his injury, he had assumed that it would only affect his physical abilities. He thought that he would be able to think, and read people like he had been able to, but just his body would be too slow. But he had realized that somehow he had lost all of his instincts, he had lost all of his abilities, and not just his physical ones.

Inaki needed to become at least a quarter of the swordsman he used to be before his injury, and he needed to do it in barely any time.

After taking a ten minute break from his leaf slashing exercise, Inaki stood up once again. He had no other exercise in mind, and began doing his katas. Once again his failures seemed so repetitive and monotonous that Inaki was getting frustrated. He just needed some ounce of strength.

As he began the Tigerstance kata, he realized that at least his movement was becoming better, even if his sword strikes weren’t exactly the best. And the fact that he wasn’t getting his fits of seizing and going unconscious during his training or even duels for that matter was a sign that he was making some progress.

That was what Inaki needed to feel, some sense of progress. When Inaki had first picked up the sword all those years ago, he remembered that feeling of waking up in the morning, a better swordsman than he was the previous day. He remembered that exhilarating feeling of doing a kata that he had been unable to do a few days prior. He remembered the awesome feeling of mastering a technique that took weeks to practice.

But as he danced the Tigerstance kata, a dance that had been so integral to his life, the first kata not of the Fundamental Five that he had learned. The one movement that he used to do to calm himself. A movement that had become so natural to him it was more of a meditation than a practice before his injury.

Now it was a labor, it wasn’t calming, and it just reminded Inaki of how bad he was. He finished the kata, he was frustrated with himself, frustrated with his situation. Frustrated with living. Those bastards had left him nothing sharp to cut himself with, but the urge overcame him.

As if he had immersed himself in the Dreamspring, Inaki saw an image of himself standing before him. Yet that image was completely unrecognizable. Two different men just wearing the same skin and face.

The man standing in front of Inaki had a regal air of superiority. He knew that he was better than everyone around him, and he was. He had a wooden sword at his waist, not because that was what he deserved, but because that was all the world gave him, still considering him a juvenile when he was at least ten years beyond his age in maturity.

Inaki saw himself before the injury standing in front of him.

“Pathetic,” Inaki before the injury said, “Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.”

“Why can I see you?” Inaki said. “I am not in a Dreamspring.”

The Inaki before the injury leaped at Inaki. Not even holding a sword in his hand. When the man he used to be punched in him in the face, Inaki actually felt it. The Inaki before the injury grabbed Inaki by the shoulder and kneed him in the stomach, throwing him down to the ground.

“This is what you have done to me,” The man Inaki used to be, said. “Turned me into a groveling Wooden whose only win was against a boy who had just gotten his spear.”

“I am sorry,” Inaki said.

The man who Inaki used to be, stepped and kicked Inaki. Inaki hit the ground, and stared at the sky. He didn’t want to get up. He just laid there and listened, as his own voice insulted him more than anyone ever had in his life.

“Get up,” Inaki before the injury said. “Get up, now.”

Inaki forced himself onto his feet.

“Duel me, you with a wooden sword and me with my fist,” The man Inaki used to be—the real Inaki—said.

Inaki before the injury rushed at Inaki to punch him, but Inaki dodged and slashed at his opponent. In turn his opponent swatted away his sword with his bare hand and slapped Inaki in the face.

“Is this your strength?”

Inaki kept slashing at his own shadow, and his shadow hit him in return. Once it was all over, Inaki found himself sitting on the ground, feeling as if he had actually gotten wounds from that encounter. But when he touched his face, he knew it was all in his head.

“Pathetic,” The man Inaki used to be before the injury said.

Inaki picked up his sword, the frustration in his body overflowing, he slammed it into the ground. His wrist revolted, but he continued to slam his sword into the ground again and again, and when the wooden blade separated from the hilt, Inaki threw the hilt at the door of his room.

Just as the hilt was flying towards the door, it opened, revealing Yaz standing there, the reflection of the sun apparent on her bald head. She was holding a plate in one hand, and a wooden practice spear in the other.

She moved her spear just a few inches, and instead of hitting her, the wooden hilt bounced off her spear and hit the ground.

“How long have you been standing there,” Inaki asked.

“I just came in,” Yaz said.

“With such perfect timing?” Inaki asked.

“I was watching you train,” Yaz said.

Inaki instantly reddened up. “So do you usually walk into prisons and stare at the prisoners practicing, or am I special.”

“I didn’t say stare, I said watch,” Yaz said. “I am interested in how you’re going to train to defeat Farrow.”

“How come you’re delivering my food instead of Trish?” Inaki asked.

“I could send Trish if you like,” Yaz said.

“No, no,” Inaki said. “I didn’t mean it that way, I was just asking.”

“I came here to check up on your wounds too, after all you did go and spar with six or seven spearmen,” Yaz said.

“I’m fine,” Inaki said. “That Urima herb water worked wonders.” Inaki pointed at his eye, which was now completely open, and his nose which was also totally healed.

“Good, good,” Yaz said.

“You said you were going to go talk to Farrow and the Sage about my life,” Inaki said. “So are you letting me go?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Yaz said. “Lord Sage Yan told me that you signed an agreement to keep the duel after the festival.”

“No,” Inaki said. “I did not.”

“What,” Yaz said. “But your thumb print in blood, and his thumb in blood were both marked on the paper.”

“He could’ve taken it after he had beaten me unconscious,” Inaki said.

“But how could you prove that,” Yaz said.

Inaki realized what his situation was. He was now honorbound—and gold bound—to fight the duel with Farrow, he had no other option. If he ran away it would be completely burning his already ashen reputation and would cost his father the forfeit money. He couldn’t afford that. But if he won this duel, it would be good for his reputation.

“As if you could win this duel,” The man Inaki used to be, whispered in Inaki’s ears. “You couldn’t defeat a toddler with a branch.”

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“Well, anyways, how is training going,” Yaz said.

Inaki just stood there, pointing at the broken wooden blade of his sword.

“Message received,” Yaz said. “Well anyways, you haven’t even eaten your breakfast yet, what happened.

“I wasn’t feeling hungry.”

“And you wonder why your training is going bad,” Yaz said. “Come on, come in and eat your breakfast, and lunch.”

Inaki walked into his small room, and saw that on his table there were now three plates.

“Are you giving me dinner now too?” Inaki said.

“Oh no, that’s my plate,” Yaz said. “I thought I’d eat here too?”

“You don’t have any other friends?” Inaki said.

“As always, blunt,” Yaz said. “I do have other friends, but you are one interesting fellow.”

“What is interesting about me,” Inaki said.

“When I first heard that Inaki-son-Hassai Tomoka was here, I wasn’t expecting… well you.”

“What were you expecting?” Inaki asked.

“I was definitely not expecting someone who read books and did art,” Yaz said.

“Yeah,” Inaki said. “Even I didn’t expect that.”

“Well anyways, let’s begin eating.”

For breakfast they had given Inaki an egg omelet and rice, and for lunch they had given him some soup, some curry and some rice. Inaki eagerly devoured it all.

“If you get bored of training all the time, I could get you a book, or some canvases or something like that,” Yaz said.

“Would Farrow be happy that you’re smuggling books and paints to me,” Inaki said.

“Probably not,” Yaz said.

“Are you sure it's probably,” Inaki said.

“Definitely not,” Yaz agreed.

Yaz was a beautiful, elegant woman. Somehow she completely suited being bald, with her face round at the top, and a pointy prominent chin. Inaki found himself silent, lost in her brown eyes. I don’t have time for these kinds of feelings.

“I’ve not asked yet, how are you related to Farrow,” Inaki asked.

“Siblings,” Yaz said.

Inaki slid back, “You’ve not thought it important to tell me that you’re my captors brother.”

“Who did you think I was?” Yaz said.

“I don’t know, I assumed you must be more distant relatives, but siblings,” Inaki said.

“Well anyways, now I’ve got this really good book that I think you might like,” Yaz began to say.

The topic of swords, Inaki being prisoned and duels ended there. For the rest of the afternoon, the two of them just sat there, chatting away about books, artists, and art. Yaz recommended Inaki books that he might like, and said that she would bring them to him the next time she came.

“I’m glad,” Yaz said, just as she was about to leave with the utensils. “That you aren’t the man I thought you would be.”

“Once again, who do you think I would be,” Inaki asked.

“I had assumed you’d be a man who thought himself superior to everyone else. So far up your own ass that you’d be inside out. I thought that you’d be a person who walked around looking down on everyone else because you considered them and their work beneath you. I assumed that you’d be cold, I assumed that you’d jump at the chance to duel my brother,” Yaz said. “But I’m happy that instead of that person, I met you.”

She had described exactly the person that Inaki used to be in the past. Was I a good person? Inaki thought. Inaki remembered the time just after he had returned home, when Gonten began screaming the flaws in Inaki’s attacks at him. Inaki remembered how he had felt.

Did I make Gonten feel that way everyday? No, Inaki just wanted him to become a better swordsman, he needed to be tough on him to make sure that he would become better. Was I a bad person for burning Shinra’s grave? The more Inaki thought about it, the more he realized his own wrong doings.

He saw the mount of corpses, the Yaroka swordsman chasing him, every person that he had killed since his first duel when he had killed a sixteen year old as a ten year old.

Inaki saw the man that he used to be standing in front of him. Are you a person worth looking up to? A person worth becoming again.

Inaki couldn’t answer that question himself.

----------------------------------------

Inaki spent the next entire week in this cycle. He would wake up in the morning, do his katas, and do his training exercise with the tree. Depending on the day, Trish and Nilun would come with his meal and go away, on other days, Yaz would come, and talk to him. When she left she would hand him a book to read. He would either read the book for a few hours, or he would go and train for a few hours more.

It was seven days since he had been taken captive. Inaki had settled into his kind of routine, and was living life as comfortably as he could.

He had spent at least six-eight hours in training every single day since his defeat at the hand of those Wooden spearmen. Which is why Inaki decided that he would once again go to the temple and challenge them.

Inaki walked over to the temple, ready for his second time in duels. He just needed to win nine more and he would get his metal blade back. Then he would at least be able to have a weapon when in his duel with Farrow.

Inaki ended up fighting with nearly the same people. He fought Taraval once again, he had definitely improved since their fight, but Inaki had improved too. Still, Inaki lost three-two. Inaki then fought Jonar. This time once again he lost three-zero.

He then fought a new opponent—named Yenovar—a woman who was about in the middle of her journey from Wooden to Iron. Inaki fought the woman, and it was pretty even. She was much faster than Inaki, but he was slightly stronger. Inaki still lost three-two

After fighting two more opponents, Inaki was way too tired to fight anymore.

Inaki stood in the garden where the Woodens practiced, they all continued with their sparring. Inaki looked in and saw once again that Yanop—the boy that Inaki had defeated and taught during his duel with him—was doing much better than he had done the previous week. In fact he won his sparring match.

Inaki didn’t realize when he started enthusiastically watching everyone spar. He didn’t realize when he started cheering and laughing with everyone else. He didn’t realize, when a smile came upon his face.

“Inaki,” Jonar called out. The man had an extremely deep voice. “Us Woodens are going out to a pub nearby, want to join us.”

“I am pretty sure I’m not allowed,’ Inaki said

“Come on,” Taraval said. “As long as Trish and Nilun are there we’re good. And as if you can run away from us.”

“I don’t mind,” Nilun said enthusiastically.

“I don’t mind either,” Trish said, unlike her brother, with zero enthusiasm.

Inaki remembered all of his nights spent drunk, sleeping on the streets of Tomoka covered in his own vomit. He remembered the people that had tried to invite him, and he had made the mistake of never accepting their invitations.

How could I have ever met these people in a life where I considered myself superior. Inaki thought, as the entire group of Gael Woodens, with Trish, Nilun and Inaki walked towards the nearest tavern.

They arrived in the tavern, and saw that it was packed. There were at least two dozen of them entering the tavern, and there just wasn’t enough space.

“Don’t worry,” Jonar said. “I’ll get us some space.”

Jonar left the rest of the group and walked over to the barman. He slipped something to the man. The man screamed out, “Tavern is closed now, everyone has to leave now.”

The barman then proceeded to kick out everyone except the two dozen people of their group, and gave them space. They pushed almost all the tables in the tavern together, and sat down.

“We do this once a week,” Jonar said. “I’m glad that you could join us.”

“This could be like a prisoner's last drink,” Nilun said.

“No,” Inaki said. “My execution isn’t for another seven weeks.”

Everyone else laughed, then when they realized that Inaki was serious, an air of silence fell over the place.

“Anyways,” Inaki asked. “Why do you not hate the Tomoka. I thought the Gael hated us.”

“We used to hate the Tomoka,” One of them admitted.

“My grandfather died in the battle,” Taraval said.

“But a few years ago, Hassai himself came to Gael during his pilgrimage,” The woman that Inaki had fought—Yenovar—said. “He spent two weeks walking into everyone who was affected by the battle's house, and apologized, washing the feet of the wives and husbands of the fallen warriors.”

“My father never told me this,” Inaki said.

“Well,” Taraval said. “He did. His apology was truly meaningful, if he was willing to clean our feet for it.”

“Ever since then we’ve had no problem with you Tomokas,” Jonar said.

“Well, let’s start then. Cheers” Nilun said, raising his mug of ale.

“Cheers,” Inaki said.

After that all talk about spears, revenge and Inaki dying ended. They gossiped about who was courting who. Who wanted to court who. Inaki of course didn’t know much, but he sat there and listened to them talk. They spoke about plays that would be happening in the town during the festival, ones they had seen, and ones they would be seeing. For most of the plays they discussed, Inaki realized that he had already read them in their book form. Inaki had held back from people because he didn’t know all that they spoke about, but just being there and listening did him much better than drinking alone then waking up in the middle of the street.

Trish was the only one who was not drinking. She sat there sober as a rock. Inaki wanted to ask her why she wasn’t drinking, but realized that they definitely weren’t close enough yet for him to ask that.

They all got way too drunk, and had moved the chairs and tables. Jonar, and the other men with deep voices, and a few of the women started a choir singing different songs, while the rest danced. Inaki was shocked that he was too shy to dance with everyone else.

In the end, Inaki ended up getting too drunk, and woke up in his room the next morning, not remembering at all what happened after he became completely black out drunk.

Inaki got up from his bed, and walked out ready to begin his training, but he saw someone sitting under his tree. He was an older man, a wrinkled bald head, with a short beard, and he wore spearman’s robes. Beside him was his spear, with bands of all the different ranks just below its spearhead.

“Oh you’re awake,” Yan Gael, the Spear-Sage—Farrow’s father—said. “I’ve been waiting.”

Inaki stood there silent.