Yukina

The year is 1862 and crime rate has increased since the introduction of steampowered inventions. Yukina stood at the edge of the Deadly Silver Blade dojo, watching morning mist roll down the mountains as Marqwainian packed with frantic determination below. The young Watcher moved with excitement barely contained, L.I.S.A.T.A ticking softly. She was not ready. Yukina knew it the moment their final duel ended. Marqwainian’s strikes had grown sharper, her breathing steadier, her resolve undeniable, but Eclipse Style was not merely technique. It was stillness within motion, and that lesson required time no training hall could grant. And time, ironically, was exactly what Marqwainian did not yet possess. Eventually Yukina came to the decision and told her, calm but firm the she had to leave. As the style will follow experience, not the other way around. Marqwainian protested, of course. She always did. Yet duty pulled stronger. To unlock L.I.S.A.T.A’s true power, she had to help others, to live beyond practice forms and bruised ribs. So Yukina made her decision quietly. She would go with her. The mountains faded behind them as they stepped onto the long road toward The City, Equilibrium resting at Yukina’s side. Marqwainian spoke endlessly of future missions, inventions, and improbable heroics, unaware of Yukina’s watchful gaze. Each night, when Marqwainian slept, Yukina practiced alone. No sword. Only hands. She moved through Eclipse forms in silence, piercing strikes transformed into precise palm thrusts, flowing redirects replacing steel with breath and balance. Impossible, most would say. The style demanded a blade. But Yukina remembered the weight of the fallen beam, the helpless stillness before rescue came. Never again. If trapped, if disarmed, if fate turned cruel, she would carve her escape with nothing but herself, she will become the sword. At dawn, two travelers continued forward: one chasing the future, the other quietly preparing to survive it.