They kept my sword for six days.
I counted.
Not because I was obsessed.
Grant said counting the hours made it worse, so I switched to days.
Apparently that was still obsession.
On the first day, they scanned it.
On the second, they scanned it differently.
On the third, Sato used several words I didn’t understand and refused to explain them because, according to her, I would “turn incomplete information into a theory and then become emotionally attached to it.” I told her that was insulting.
She asked whether it was inaccurate.
I left.
On the fourth day, they tried separating the sword from the facility.
I didn’t know they were doing it.
That was intentional.
I was halfway through conditioning when something changed.
Not pain.
Not even discomfort.
I just stopped running.
Grant, standing beside the treadmill, looked at me.
“What?” I looked toward the wall.
Nothing.
The feeling I’d had since the sword appeared was faint enough that I could usually ignore it.
Now it was weaker.
“Where is it?” Grant’s expression told me everything.
“You weren’t supposed to know.” “Where is it?” He reached for the treadmill controls.
I slapped the stop button first.
The belt slowed beneath me.
“Grant.” “Vehicle.” “Why?” “Testing.” “Bring it back.” “Kai.” “Bring it back.” He watched me for several seconds.
“Does it hurt?” “No.” “Core?” “I don’t know.” “Then breathe.” “I’m breathing.” “Badly.” I looked down.
He was right.
Annoying.
I inhaled slowly.
Held.
Released.
The feeling stayed distant.
Not gone.
Just stretched.
That was the only word that made sense.
I closed my eyes.
“North.” Grant didn’t answer.
I opened them.
“It’s north.” His face had changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
“I’m right?” “Get off the treadmill.” “That’s a yes.” “Medical.” “Grant.” “Now.” I stepped off.
He was already speaking into his radio.
They brought the sword back twenty-seven minutes later.
I knew before anyone told me.
The tension eased.
Not completely.
Just enough that my shoulders dropped.
Sato spent the next three hours being fascinated.
I spent them being irritated.
“Again,” she said.
“No.” “Kai.” “You secretly drove my sword away from me.” “That was the test.” “That’s theft.” “It’s government property.” I stared at her.
Sato paused.
Then corrected herself.
“It is currently under government containment.” “Better.” “Legally, that distinction is complicated.” “It’s my sword.” “We have not established that.” “It came out of my arm.” “It did not come out of your arm.” “It came out near my arm.” “Also inaccurate.” “You know what I mean.” Unfortunately, she did.
She turned the monitor toward me.
Two lines ran across the screen.
One was my Core activity.
The other belonged to the sword.
At least, that’s what she claimed.
They weren’t identical.
But parts of the pattern matched.
Not constantly.
Every few seconds, both shifted in almost the same way.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“We don’t know.” “Your favorite sentence.” “It should become yours too.” “Why?” “Because people who become comfortable saying it are less likely to invent answers.” I looked at the screen.
“Can it track me?” “No evidence of that.” “Can I track it?” “You identified a general direction.” “So yes.” “No.” I frowned.
Sato pointed at me with her pen.
“You knew it had moved.
After concentrating, you identified a direction.
You couldn’t give distance, location, speed, elevation, or any useful measurement.” “Still counts.” “If someone moved your bedroom to Canada and you said, ‘Something feels weird,’ I wouldn’t call that navigation.” “Depends how fast I found Canada.” She ignored me.
“What matters is that separation produces a measurable response in you.” “And it?” “We’re less certain.” That caught my attention.
“What happened to the sword?” “Nothing dramatic.” “Meaning something happened.” Sato really needed to work on hiding things.
She enlarged part of the graph.
“The blade’s internal Core pattern increased slightly as distance increased.” “Because it wanted to come back?” “No.” “Because it missed me?” “No.” “Because we’re best friends?” “Kai.” I smiled.
She didn’t.
Fine.
“What do you think?” Sato stared at the graph.
“I think we need more information.” Of course she did.
Grant still wouldn’t let me hold it.
So I made his life difficult.
“Can I use it today?” “No.” “Tomorrow?” “No.” “Wednesday?” “No.” “What day is it?” “Tuesday.” “So tomorrow is Wednesday.” “I’m aware.” “Then why did you answer twice?” Grant hit me with a padded baton.
I blocked.
“Ow.” “Focus.” We were back to normal training swords.
Apparently manifesting a mysterious ice weapon didn’t excuse me from fundamentals.
Grant seemed almost offended by the suggestion.
He attacked again.
I parried.
Too wide.
He hit my shoulder.
“Dead.” “That wouldn’t kill me.” “Fine.
Injured.” “Thank you.” He attacked again.
This time I stepped outside the line.
Counter.
Grant caught my wrist.
I remembered what happened last time.
Instead of fighting his grip, I released the sword.
His eyes changed.
I stepped in.
Shoulder into chest.
He moved with it.
Of course he did.
But I’d already grabbed the sword with my left hand as it fell.
Awkward grip.
Wrong hand.
Still a sword.
I cut upward.
Grant’s baton stopped an inch from my throat.
My wooden blade stopped against his ribs.
We froze.
I looked at his baton.
Then mine.
“Draw?” “You’re dead.” “So are you.” “I hit first.” “Barely.” “First is first.” He stepped away.
I smiled anyway.
Grant noticed.
“Don’t.” “I got you.” “You died.” “I got you.” “You traded your life for a hit.” “I still got you.” Grant sighed.
“Again.” That was the closest thing to congratulations I was getting.
I took it.
The ice sword changed something in my training.
Not my strength.
Grant made sure of that.
If anything, the week after it appeared was worse.
My Core control became inconsistent.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to annoy Sato.
Sometimes cold crept into the exercises.
A little frost around my fingertips.
A sudden drop in temperature.
Once, a thin sheet of ice formed beneath my shoe during a movement drill.
I slipped.
Grant laughed so hard he had to sit down.
I considered murder.
The ice disappeared within seconds.
That was new.
The sword didn’t.
Whatever I’d created during the simulation was different from the little bursts of frost.
More stable.
Permanent, apparently.
And I couldn’t make another.
I tried.
Obviously.
Not during official training.
Also obviously.
I stood alone in my room one night and held out my hand.
Nothing.
I concentrated.
Nothing.
I thought about the simulation.
Nothing.
I thought about the beetle.
Bad idea.
Still nothing.
I got angry.
Not hard.
There were plenty of things available.
The government had taken my name.
My friends thought I was still frozen.
My mom couldn’t see me.
I’d lost three and a half years.
That usually did it.
Nothing.
I squeezed my hand until my nails hurt.
“Come on.” Nothing.
Eventually I felt stupid.
That was probably healthy.
I went to bed.
On the sixth day, Cross walked into the training room carrying a black case.
I stopped mid-stretch.
Grant looked at her.
“No.” She hadn’t even spoken.
“I didn’t ask you.” “No.” “It’s been cleared for controlled handling.” “No.” I stood.
Grant pointed at me.
“Sit.” I sat.
Cross placed the case on the table.
My attention followed it.
That feeling strengthened immediately.
There.
I knew before she opened it.
The locks released.
The lid rose.
The ice sword rested inside.
For the first time since the simulation, nothing separated us.
I stared.
Up close, it looked less like normal ice than I’d thought.
The blade was translucent, but cloudy layers ran through its center.
Thin blue-white veins moved beneath the surface.
Actually moved.
Slowly.
Like light traveling beneath frozen water.
The edge looked impossibly thin.
No condensation surrounded it.
No melting.
Cross looked at me.
“Dr.
Sato?” Sato stood near the monitoring station.
“Baseline stable.” “Grant?” “No.” Cross sighed.
“Your objection has been recorded.” “Record it bigger.” I smiled.
Grant pointed at me again.
“Don’t encourage her.” Cross ignored both of us.
“Kai.” I stood.
My heart was beating faster.
That annoyed me.
It was a sword.
I’d held hundreds of practice swords by now.
Wood.
Steel.
Different lengths.
Different weights.
Different grips.
This shouldn’t have felt different.
It did.
I approached the table.
“Don’t touch it yet,” Sato said.
I stopped.
“Then why am I here?” “Baseline.” “You’ve had six days.” “Your baseline.” I looked at Grant.
“Is she always like this?” “Yes.” “How do you survive?” “I leave.” Sato waited.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Then she nodded.
“Right hand.” I reached down.
My fingers closed around the grip.
Cold.
Not painful.
Not numbing.
Just cold.
The light inside the blade brightened.
Every monitor in the room changed.
Sato leaned forward.
I barely noticed.
Because the instant I lifted the sword, everything else became quiet.
Not literally.
I could hear the machines.
Grant breathing.
Cross shifting her weight.
Sato tapping something on the monitor.
But my attention narrowed.
Blade.
Body.
Space.
The sword was lighter than I’d expected.
No.
Wrong.
It was exactly as heavy as it should be.
That thought bothered me.
I moved it slightly.
Grant stepped forward.
“Slow.” I stopped.
“Sorry.” “Don’t apologize.
Listen.” I nodded.
He pointed toward the open mat.
“Walk.” I carried the sword with me.
No stance.
No attack.
Just walking.
Sato monitored.
“Core increase.” “How much?” Cross asked.
“Small.” I turned.
Walked back.
The sword followed naturally.
Too naturally.
Grant noticed.
“How does it feel?” “Good.” “Useful answer.” I thought.
“Normal.” Grant looked at the sword.
“That isn’t normal.” “I know.” “Then try again.” I adjusted my grip.
“Every other sword has something I have to account for.” “Weight?” “Everything.
Weight.
Balance.
Length.
Grip shape.
Even when Sword Mastery tells me immediately, I’m still adjusting to the weapon.” “And this?” I looked at the blade.
“I’m not adjusting.” Grant’s expression tightened.
“Don’t get comfortable.” “I’m literally telling you it’s comfortable.” “You know what I mean.” He walked to the weapon rack and selected a standard training sword.
Steel this time.
Blunted.
He tossed it toward me.
I caught it with my left hand.
The difference was immediate.
Ice sword right.
Steel left.
Sword Mastery gave me everything about both.
The steel sword was familiar.
Functional.
Well made.
The ice sword was… Mine.
There wasn’t another word.
Grant pointed.
“Put the ice sword down.” I did.
Immediately.
That seemed to surprise him.
I held only the steel sword.
“Move.” I went through the basic sequence.
Advance.
Cut.
Recover.
Turn.
Guard.
Thrust.
Normal.
Grant watched.
“Again.” I repeated.
“Now switch.” I put the steel sword down.
Picked up the ice sword.
Advance.
Cut.
I stopped myself.
Grant’s eyes narrowed.
“What?” “Nothing.” “Again.” I did.
The movement was cleaner.
Not faster.
Not stronger.
Cleaner.
My foot landed exactly where I wanted it.
My shoulders stayed loose.
The recovery came naturally.
Grant walked around me.
“Again.” Cut.
Recover.
“Again.” Cut.
Recover.
“Faster.” I increased speed.
My body started reaching its limit.
There.
The sword couldn’t fix that.
My rear foot dragged slightly.
My shoulder tightened.
Breathing changed.
Grant noticed all of it.
“Stop.” I lowered the blade.
“Well?” “You still suck.” “Great.” “But less.” I smiled.
Grant didn’t.
“That’s not necessarily good.” “Why?” “Because I don’t know how much of that is you.” The smile disappeared.
I looked at the sword.
That was fair.
I didn’t like it.
Grant took the steel sword and stepped onto the mat.
“Guard.” I raised the ice sword.
He attacked slowly.
I blocked.
Metal met ice.
A sharp crack echoed through the room.
Frost exploded across Grant’s blade.
He stepped back immediately.
Everyone froze.
I looked at his sword.
A white layer covered the upper half.
“That wasn’t me.” Sato was already typing.
“Core spike at contact.” Grant looked at me.
“Again.” Cross interrupted.
“Are you sure?” “No.” Then he attacked anyway.
Slower.
Contact.
This time I paid attention.
The instant steel touched ice, something inside my Core pulled.
Tiny.
Automatic.
Cold traveled through the sword.
Frost spread across Grant’s blade.
I released immediately.
The frost stopped.
“I felt that.” Sato looked up.
“What?” “My Core.” “Describe.” “It moved.” “How?” “I don’t know.” She gave me a look.
“I’m learning from you.” Grant examined his sword.
No damage.
Just frost.
He wiped it away with his glove.
“Again.” We repeated it.
Five times.
By the fifth, I could feel the moment clearly.
Contact.
Response.
Core.
Cold.
But controlling it was another question.
“Try stopping it,” Sato said.
Grant attacked.
Block.
Frost.
Failed.
Again.
Frost.
Again.
Less.
Maybe.
Fourth time, almost none.
Fifth time, more than before.
I frowned.
“That’s annoying.” “Good,” Grant said.
I looked at him.
“How is that good?” “Because you’re bad at it.” Cross laughed.
I stared at both of them.
Grant lowered his sword.
“If you’d picked this up and immediately started freezing everything on command, I’d be concerned.” “You are concerned.” “More concerned.” Sato nodded.
“For once, I agree with him.” “Wonderful.” I looked at the ice blade.
“Can I make it stronger?” Three people answered at once.
“No.” I blinked.
“I was asking Sato.” “No,” she repeated.
“Can I put more Core into it?” “No.” “Can I try?” “No.” “What can I do?” Grant pointed toward the center of the mat.
“Basics.” I stared at him.
“Seriously?” “Extremely.” He raised his sword.
“Your mysterious ice weapon doesn’t know footwork for you.” “It kind of does.” Grant’s eyes narrowed.
“Bad phrasing.” “Definitely.” “Guard.” I raised the sword.
He attacked.
For twenty minutes, nothing impressive happened.
That might have been the most important part.
I blocked.
Moved.
Countered.
Missed.
Grant hit me twice.
I hit him once.
The sword didn’t turn me into someone else.
It didn’t make my lungs better.
Didn’t strengthen my legs.
Didn’t improve my reaction speed beyond what my body could execute.
When I got tired, I still got sloppy.
When Grant crowded me, I still struggled.
When he changed from sword to grappling range, the ice blade suddenly became inconveniently long.
He grabbed my wrist.
Turned.
I lost balance.
Floor.
The ice sword stayed in my hand.
Grant’s practice blade touched my throat.
“Dead.” I stared upward.
“That feels disrespectful.” “Good.” “I have an ice sword.” “Congratulations.” “You could sound more impressed.” “You fell over.” He offered his hand.
I took it.
He pulled me up.
I looked at the sword.
Something about losing while holding it made me feel better.
That sounded strange.
But I needed it.
The sword was special.
I wasn’t.
Not yet.
Good.
Sato limited me to thirty minutes.
I complained.
She reduced it to twenty-five.
I stopped complaining.
When the session ended, I returned the sword to the case.
Or tried to.
My fingers didn’t want to open.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
That was worse.
I stood there with my hand around the grip.
Cross noticed.
“Kai.” “I know.” I placed it inside.
The light beneath the blade dimmed.
Sato closed the case.
Immediately, the room felt slightly emptier.
I hated that.
Grant saw that too.
Of course he did.
“Don’t.” “What?” “Whatever you’re thinking.” “You don’t know what I’m thinking.” “You’re thinking about becoming dependent on it.” I frowned.
“No.” “Good.” “I’m thinking about stealing it.” Cross spoke from behind us.
“I’d advise against that.” “I forgot you were there.” “No, you didn’t.” I looked at the case.
“Why can’t I keep it?” Sato answered.
“Because we don’t know what it is.” “It’s a sword.” “Scientifically, you’re exhausting.” “It has a handle and a blade.” “We don’t know what it’s made from, how it formed, why it remains stable, why your Core responds to it, why its Core signature responds to yours, or what prolonged exposure does.” I considered that.
“Still a sword.” Grant covered his face.
Cross almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she became serious.
“There is another reason.” I looked at her.
“Of course there is.” “If this weapon is visibly associated with the Emory containment event, you cannot carry it publicly.” That wiped away the humor.
Right.
Akio Kita was still frozen.
Officially.
Kai Skyline couldn’t walk around carrying a sword made from the same impossible ice surrounding Akio Kita.
I looked at the case.
“Would people recognize it?” “Maybe not immediately.” “But eventually.” “Possibly.” “And that’s enough.” “Yes.” My jaw tightened.
The sword had come from me.
And somehow even that belonged to a person I wasn’t allowed to be.
Cross must have seen something on my face.
“We’ll find a solution.” “When?” “I don’t know.” I laughed once.
No humor in it.
“Everyone loves that answer lately.” Cross didn’t defend herself.
Good.
I walked toward the door.
Stopped.
Turned back.
“Can I use it tomorrow?” Sato sighed.
Grant said, “No.” Cross said, “We’ll see.” I pointed at her.
“You’re my favorite.” “That concerns me.” That night, I opened the notebook.
THINGS I CAN’T DO YET, BUT WILL Most of the list remained unchanged.
Maintain Core under full movement.
Fight effectively without a sword.
Protect someone while fighting.
Manage stamina.
Multiple opponents.
Injuries.
Terrain.
Stop chasing openings.
Beat Ortiz.
Beat Grant.
Eventually.
I added another line.
Control the ice sword.
I stared at it.
Then crossed out the ice sword.
Wrote: my sword.
Better.
I closed the notebook.
For a while, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
The sword was three floors away.
Secure storage.
Two locked doors.
Probably enough sensors to detect someone breathing incorrectly.
I couldn’t see it.
Couldn’t hear it.
Couldn’t tell exactly where it was.
But if I concentrated… There.
Faint.
Present.
I wondered if it felt me too.
Probably a stupid thought.
Sato would hate it.
That made me like it more.
I rolled onto my side.
Tomorrow I would train with a normal sword.
The day after that too, probably.
Grant wouldn’t let me hide behind something special.
I understood why.
If I only became dangerous while holding that sword, then the sword was dangerous.
Not me.
And somewhere ahead of me were things stronger than a Class II training construct.
Things Grant’s twenty-one years of experience might not be enough for.
Things Sword Mastery might give me answers my body still couldn’t perform.
I wasn’t ready for those things.
Not close.
But for the first time since waking up, I had something that hadn’t been assigned to Kai Skyline.
The government hadn’t created it.
Cross hadn’t put it on a form.
No one had chosen it for me.
It came from the same ice that had stolen three and a half years of my life.
And somehow it had become a sword in my hand.
I still didn’t know what that meant.
For tonight, one thing was enough.
It was mine.