**Little Trick**
Beneath the silence, where no distraction dares intrude and no sound dares rise, only Mai and Kanami sit upon the earth. Mai clasps Kanami's hand; both keep their eyes shut, faces turned toward one another.
Mai speaks. "You may now be ready to awaken your element. Open your eyes."
Kanami obeys and senses nothing different. Mai, curiosity bright in her voice, asks, "Well? I charged you with elemental essence. You should at least feel something. Can you?"
Kanami frowns. "How exactly? I feel nothing. You held my hand for ten full minutes."
Mai begins, "Focus here, Kanami. It's simple. The element is a mirror of yourself—not some mysterious force that springs from nowhere. To wield it, center your thoughts, your emotions, and feel it bloom inside your mind. The element will shape itself to your will, within limits. It depends on how much you possess and what kind you bear. Let me show you."
Mai opens her palm; a sphere of soft light forms. "See? I shaped the element into a simple lantern. My element is the Unknown—the element of knowledge. My power grows from imagination made real."
Kanami studies every motion, already mapping his own path. "You said mine is Ashes, the element of determination. What can it do?"
Mai shrugs lightly. "That's for us to discover. Determination is rare; I've known only two or three with it, and they were terrifyingly strong. Ashes, the unbearable desire—let those words sink in. Picture what you could forge with that hunger. Your element leans toward raw physical might, but it can do more. For now, we focus on need." She flashes a wide grin. "Ready, Kanami?"
"For what?"
"I want you to defeat the doll again—not with one lucky strike, but by mastering its style. And here's your gift." She gestures. "Leave that wooden scrap. Take this spear. It's no common weapon; it's a kwan dao, forged for you alone."
From thin air, a mighty spear materializes—black ore gleaming, its broad blade edged in crimson, gold-wrapped silk rippling at the haft like living wind.
Mai hefts it with effort and passes it over. Kanami accepts the kwan dao, testing its balance. "Lighter than I thought. How do I use it?"
Mai's face hardens. "First, feel your element. Feed it your desire to win."
Kanami scoffs. "That's what you said before."
"Exactly. Now run—enemies don't wait."
A brutal strike hurls Kanami skyward. The doll has changed: four arms now, wooden sword in one grip, shield in another.
The clash begins without warning, yet Kanami meets it, parrying the blow—only to be flung back by sheer force. The kwan dao is foreign in his hands, but its reach and weight outclass the sword. Minute by minute, he closes the gap, learning the rhythm of battle and the pulse of his power.
He dances between strikes. The doll commands the field, shield raised, defense near-ironclad yet not invincible.
Kanami studies its patterns.
In one heartbeat, the world empties. Nothing exists but him, the doll, and the need to win. Man and weapon fuse. His movements become a lethal ballet. Mai watches, dissecting every arc, every pivot. The boy she knew is gone; two titans trade blows. Something has shifted—she feels it, cannot name it.
Kanami loses himself in the fight. Defense turns to parity, then dominance. Mai's mind races. *Ashes… determination… He was never this fast, this strong. I strengthened the doll. What power is this?*
Realization dawns. *He didn't just copy its style—he became it. Is that his vision of victory: to devour the enemy whole?*
A thunderous crack splits the air. The doll shatters at the waist. Kanami stands over the ruin, kwan dao dripping splinters, eyes ablaze with nothing but conquest.
Mai freezes—true fear for the first time.
Kanami charges her, weapon raised, mind adrift in killing haze. She cannot move. The blade halts an inch from her throat, then clatters down. Kanami collapses, body spent beyond endurance—his first awakening too fierce for mortal frame.
Mai remains rooted until fear ebbs. She kneels, mends shattered bones, but leaves torn muscle to heal on its own.
Hours later, Kanami stirs amid bandages and agony. Memory is pain and fragments. "Where…?"
Mai, repairing the doll, answers without looking up. "Awake at last. Don't move; you're held together by thread and will. Painkillers will kick in soon. Food's beside you—eat."
Curiosity overtakes her. "How did you do it?"
"I don't know. I only wanted a fair fight. Then everything vanished except the doll and victory. The kwan dao felt like my own arm. After that… nothing."
Mai snorts. "You smashed my doll, nearly smashed me, then dropped like a corpse. Slept five hours. Bones are knit; muscles will learn the hard way. Eat."
Kanami manages a weak laugh. "You sound shaken."
"Me? Afraid of you? Never." A faint flush betrays her.
"How bad's the doll?"
"Ready by dawn. Break it again and I'll break you. It drinks time and element to mend."
Kanami eats in silence, feeling alien fire coil inside—unfamiliar, intoxicating. He finishes, grips the kwan dao, and mutters, "Wake me when it's done," before sleep claims him.
Dawn finds him stiff but upright, kwan dao in hand. Mai sleeps nearby, soft snores betraying an all-night vigil. The doll stands repaired. Beside it, new armor—black plates that swallow light, helm missing, forged of resilient ore. Kanami dons it; the weight is negligible. He tests mobility, finds it fluid.
Mai stirs, stretches. "Like the gift? My magic, not invincible, but enough for now. Guard it."
Kanami offers a small smile. "Thank you. I'm ready."
"Not on an empty stomach. Breakfast first."
After the meal, training resumed with renewed intensity. Kaname poured his focus into building strength, mastering control over his swirling thoughts, and purging his mind of distractions. He strove to harmonize body and spirit; the relentless ticking of the clock echoed ceaselessly in his ears. He knew he would never be truly ready, yet he yearned to prepare as thoroughly as possible for the revenge that burned within him.