Jay listened out as Akira knocked on Lyra’s bedroom door. After getting no reply, they looked at each other and shrugged.
“Yo Lyra!” said Akira, knocking on the door a few more times for good measure. “If you don’t say anything in the next ten seconds, I’m opening the door and walking into this room. Like it or not.”
Jay heard a grunt and a shuffle, but still no response.
Akira slid his hand over to the door handle. He twisted it, but the door was locked.
“Normally, out of respect, I wouldn’t do this…”
He waved his hand, and Jay watched the handle twist itself. A bolt snapped behind the doorway
With a gentle push, the door swung inwards.
Lyra huddled on her bed, knees raised up to her chin and leaning against the wall. She had a thick woollen blanket draped over her. Her obsidian eyes flicked between Jay and Akira, unblinking.
“How’s it going?” Asked Akira.
He got nothing but a stare in return.
“I’m not very good at this kind of thing.” He said, practically begging Lyra to throw him a bone. She didn’t.
“But I want to tell you about something called Zanshin.
“The concept of Zanshin is something the Samurai used to remain focused in battle, it means ‘lingering awareness’. In martial arts, it means retaining focus after completing an attack. Even after delivering a strike, the Samurai needed to be aware, mentally and physically prepared for what comes next.
“But it can be applied to life as well. Zanshin teaches us to maintain a connection to the past, but not to be stuck in it. We can carry the lessons and presence of something that has ended, not by clinging onto it, but by integrating it into our life as we go on living. The river of life flows continuously, and we need to be ready for the next bend.”
Lyra’s piercing stare stabbed at Akira, hoping he’d back off.
The young man fiddled with his sword’s hilt. Akira’s restless hands betrayed his nerves, but he cleared his throat and kept pushing.
“Death is an integral part of life, especially for us gladiators. We can’t resist it. We can’t be consumed by grief. Instead we must flow forward. We need to maintain a lingering awareness of her, to carry on her memory, her essence, as we continue our path.
“Zanshin teaches us not to drop our guard after a blow. To remain focused, to be aware of what’s passed and use it to propel ourselves forward. Vega’s gone, but we can carry her spirit forward. It’s what the Samurai would do.”
…
Lyra met Akira’s eyes, her jagged stare had vanished, but Jay still saw barbs of resentment within her mournful eyes.
“Will any of your bullshit philosophy bring my sister back?”
Lyra’s quiet words struck the room’s silence like a hammer, echoing in the stillness.
“This isn’t noble, Akira. I’m not a Samurai spewing out poetic rubbish to make myself feel better. Vega doesn’t have a next battle to prepare for. Zanshin can’t do shit for her, and it won’t do shit for me.”
Akira clutched at his sword. He bit his lip, stumbling over his next words.
Good try, but grief doesn’t respond well to reason.
“Well, it was worth a try mate.” Jay felt for Akira, he’d given it an honest shot, but his attempt had fallen flat.
Jay’s face hardened. He matched Lyra’s unblinking stare with equal intensity and unflinching resolve.
“I wish it hadn’t come to this Lyra.”
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He knew it would.
Lyra was kind and understanding, but gladiators couldn’t afford to be impressionable.
And you don’t seek Harmony without unwavering self-belief.
Jay knew that he couldn’t convince Lyra to take a single step if she didn’t want to. He knew he had to force her to make a decision.
Jay stepped to the side and a golden list appeared between him and Akira.
The familiar list had three different names at the top this time.
Amaya Ironglove
#1
Lyra Twinstrike
#2
Ezekiel, the Soulsnatcher
#3
“Recognise this? It’s the entrance list for the E grade advancement tournament.”
Jay mentally scrolled down. He passed, Akira, Zara, Fox, a few names he knew and dozens he didn’t.
When he reached the bottom of the list, Jay turned to both of his friends. Lyra’s sharp gazed darted between Jay and the list.
The Emberwolf
#63
Velja, the Velvet Knife
#87
Ashar the Wandering
#101
“101 is a bit low down the ranks compared to the rest of the fighters in the advancement tournament. Don’t you think so Akira? Who was the lowest ranking fighter ever to compete in the tournament?”
“A guy called Glassjaw, he entered at rank 244 for some reason. However, after the tournament he even became one of the Luminaries. It was a mass- Wait, why are you asking me this?”
Gold flashed over Jay’s eyes.
The names on the screen shifted.
Jay pointed at the new name that had appeared. The name that displaced Ashar the Wandering from the bottom rung of the ladder.
“Not anymore.”
Velja, the Velvet Knife
#87
Ashar the Wandering
#101
Lightning Leonard
#499
Lyra leant forward and squinted. Confusion supplanted the despair across her eyes. Akira stared, slack-jawed, at Jay. Completely speechless for the first time since Jay had known him.
“What do think you’re playing at Jay?” Said Lyra. “This better be a joke. You’re not even in the top half of E grade, everyone else in the tournament is going to demolish you!”
“That’s what you think…”
Jay raised his fists.
The white channels of electricity that ran through his forearms sparked alight. The static fuzz of ionised air brushed against the hair of his knuckles.
“…I disagree. It’s a risk, for sure. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’m willing to take it because I’m betting on these two fists right here. I lost them once and I went through hell to get them back Lyra. I believe in these two fists more than anything in the world. If I'm not strong enough now, then I'm gonna train and fight until I am strong enough.”
Jay relaxed his fists, but he wasn’t done yet.
He pointed at Lyra, desperately trying to stir her emotions. To ignite her fighting spirit. To remind her who the fuck she was.
“But maybe you don’t believe me; wouldn’t be the first time. What are you gonna fucking do about it then? Because this time you can do something. You couldn’t join Vega in the arena yesterday, but advancement is fought in groups.
“Don’t want me to die? Fucking do something about it. I want you on my team Lyra, I want you by my side.”
Jay let out a deep breath as he released the tension in his shoulders.
Lyra didn’t need someone to tell her to stand up and fight. That would never work.
She needed a reason.
Jay hoped his life was a good enough reason, but he didn’t mind if it wasn’t.
Because he wasn’t done yet.
“In D grade, fights are non-lethal. That means the only time in your life where you’re guaranteed a shot at revenge on those motherfuckers is in four weeks’ time when the coliseum sends us off to do God knows what to get into D grade.
“I want to kill them Lyra. I want to fucking kill them. I want to pound Ezekiel’s face into the dirt until I can’t tell the difference between his body and the ground. I want to crush Amaya’s stupid metal skull beneath my fists as she screams for mercy.
“And I want to do it slowly.”
Jay didn’t notice his hands balling up into fists, he didn’t notice every hair on his body jolt upright or the muscles in his arms tense and ripple with pent up electricity.
“Maybe, you think my life isn’t a good enough reason to live for these four weeks. Shit, maybe, right now, you think your life isn’t good enough either. But maybe right now you don’t need any of that shit.
“For the next four weeks I'm spending every fucking second I have getting stronger. After that, I’m walking into that tournament and, whatever the circumstances, I’m sprinting right at those two dickheads and beating the crap out of them. Forget D grade, I’m going for revenge. If you want to join me, then you can’t just sit around feeling like shit. You’ve gotta work.
“Forget Zanshin. Forget feeling happy. Forget fucking everything.
“If you can’t do four weeks for me, fine. Can’t do four weeks for yourself? Fine.
“But what about four weeks for Vega? What about four weeks for revenge?”