The wind moved like whispers between trees, a soft hush trailing through the grey branches as the clearing stretched out in silence. Ice clung to the roots like old scars. This was not a place for comfort. It was a place to sharpen what one carried inside.
Fuyuki stepped into the centre of the ground. His twin kodachi hung at his lower back, glinting faintly against his dark blue kimono. The fabric barely stirred with his movement. He moved like falling snow, quiet, even when he cut through the stillness.
He drew one of his blades with a quick and quiet motion. Cold steel met colder air. Fuyuki didn't speak. Not to himself, not to the forest. The only sound was the subtle crunch of frost beneath his sandals as he moved to the first stance.
Sekisetsu – Swaying Winds
His feet slid apart, his knees bent slightly, and his upper body swayed side to side, mimicking the erratic flutter of a snow flurry. His stance was deceptive, constantly shifting centerline and balance.
From the sway, he stepped forward. His right blade came up in a clean diagonal. Then down. Then again. The pattern built like a rhythm, a metronome of slashes that carved the air. He pivoted sharply.
Sekisetsu – Blade Shift
In one fluid motion, he spun his grip to a dagger-style hold, blade reversed. Then back. Then again with the opposite hand. The transition was muscle memory now, smooth and unbroken, but Fuyuki was searching for more. Less waste in motion. Less hesitation in the fingers.
Sekisetsu – Ambidextrous
He drew the second kodachi and crossed both blades, then split them apart in mirrored arcs. The right hand led an upward cut while the left coiled low and tight along his ribs. A sudden burst of footwork closed the distance to an invisible opponent. He spun the right blade upward, Shifting Blades, flipped the hilt mid-motion, then transferred it cleanly to his off-hand.
Steel whispered through the air. His breath was steady. He paused for a moment before continuing forward.
Left slash. Switch. Right thrust. Flip.
Sekisetsu – Snow Flurry
Both blades sliced upwards in a wide, arcing slash before carving downwards in an X formation. Within a second’s silence, the grip was shifted to a downward hold, swinging the left kodachi upward through an imaginary abdomen. Every attack fed into the next, no wasted space. Just the sound of steel and the sharp whisper of cloth brushing against the wind.
Fuyuki lowered his blade and exhaled slowly. The frost in the air drifted faintly, catching on the breeze. He paused, taking in his surroundings with a calm, perceptive gaze before starting again, slower this time. He let the weight of the kodachi pull his arms into motion. No counting steps. No strict sequence.
It was time for his latest technique, the most difficult to complete. An extension from the Shifting Blades stance.
Sekisetsu – Engulfing Winds
His form exploded into motion. Slashes rained down in rapid succession: parallel arcs down the centerline, then cuts from alternating angles. Four strikes, all from unpredictable paths. Every movement dictated by instinct and honed reflex. His stance narrowed, then widened, always adjusting to the next angle. Not showy. Not excessive. Just efficient.
He continued without pause. No flourish. No break in form. The clearing became his partner. The forest his pressure. The mist his margin for error. He pushed through the final movement of Engulfing Winds, letting the blades settle into their resting angles. His chest rose once. Then stilled.
It wasn't enough.
His feet adjusted, ankles rooted in frost-hardened earth. He ran through it again. Faster. Tighter. The same four strikes, but now with compressed transitions. He trimmed the space between step and swing, breath and reaction. He no longer saw opponents. He saw openings. Angles. The moment where resistance could break with a single, clean strike.
Fuyuki suddenly stopped. A sharp breath caught in his throat. He held it, not from exhaustion, but from scrutiny. The mistake had been minor, but it was still a mistake. A slight over-rotation in his left elbow. A faint imbalance in his rear foot on the final lunge.
It would go unnoticed by most.
But Fuyuki wasn’t training for most.
He sheathed both kodachi with an audible click. Paused. Then drew them again in a flash.
His hands became a blur. Shifting grips. Switching hands mid-combo. Breaking rhythm on purpose. The goal wasn’t speed for its own sake. It was unpredictability. Every movement designed to strip comfort from whoever faced him. And with Hyouton in his veins, that discomfort came naturally. Even now, a chill followed the arc of his blades, faint condensation trailing from each motion as chakra laced the air.
He pivoted and lunged forward again.
One blade swept wide, baiting a guard. The other followed close, reversed mid-swing and redirected in a tight crescent toward the neck of an imaginary enemy. His foot slid across the earth without lifting. Then again, he ducked low, dropped his shoulder, brought both blades upward in a mirrored curve that would have gutted a man from hip to heart.
He exhaled and let his shoulders settle. The session had gone longer than usual. Fuyuki straightened and sheathed his blades. Then came a long breath, the kind that rises when something fits just a little more cleanly than before.
The cold was in him. But so was clarity. He turned from the clearing without a word.
The frost would be waiting for him tomorrow.
WC: 920
Cold Without Cruelty [Solo Training]
-
Vendelcrow
- Posts: 45
- Joined: Sat May 24, 2025 6:06 am
- Location: Sydney, AUS
Cold Without Cruelty [Solo Training]
Last edited by Vendelcrow on Sat May 31, 2025 4:57 am, edited 2 times in total.
Characters:
Name Village Rank Colour Aisu, Fuyuki Kirigakure Chuunin [color=#87CEEB]
-
Vendelcrow
- Posts: 45
- Joined: Sat May 24, 2025 6:06 am
- Location: Sydney, AUS
Cold Without Cruelty [Solo Training]
The morning mist had not yet lifted from the treetops when Fuyuki arrived at the secluded glade, a flat stretch of earth surrounded by skeletal trees and sleeping moss. The grass still held a brittle frost, but that wasn't enough. Not for what he planned.
He exhaled, slow and silent. A faint shimmer of vapor clung to the air before vanishing. Fuyuki knelt, pressing one palm flat to the earth.
Hyouton: Tundra
Chakra surged from his hand and into the ground, blooming outward like invisible roots. Within seconds, the forest floor cracked, hissed and glistened. Ice spread across the clearing in a thin precise sheet. Thirty meters across, smooth and level. A perfect Tundra.
He stepped forward and stood on the frozen surface. The sensation was immediate. His footing became uncertain, the grip of his sandals barely catching. Every small adjustment sent weight into motion. His balance had to respond, or fall behind. That was the point.
Fuyuki closed his eyes for a moment and felt the surface. The ice wasn't natural, he had crafted it, and that meant he could learn from it. His control was high enough now that the terrain didn't warp or crack beneath him. But precision wasn't enough if his body couldn't move through it.
He began simply with forward steps, one after another. Then a backpedal. Then diagonal. Nothing dramatic, just learning how the cold slid beneath his toes, how momentum betrayed balance. With each step, he corrected. He leaned slightly more to the inside of his foot. Adjusted the bend in his knee.
After a few passes, he picked up speed. He began moving in circuits around the perimeter of the field, then zig-zaggign inward. The wind at his back shifted slightly and caught the edge of his kimono, but he didn't let it pull his posture. His steps grew quieter. More deliberate.
Then he stopped. A slow breath, then he stepped forward, drew one of his kodachi, and began again, this time moving with a blade in hand.
Forward. Slash. Slide. Pivot.
He used the ice. Not just as a surface to endure, but as a weapon itself. A sudden crouch into a sweep, and his foot carried him farther than normal. The ice gave him speed, but onyl if he respected its momentum. If he cut too soon or shifted too fast, the motion betrayed him.
He tested that line, again and again. At one point, his foot skidded out from under him in a turn. He caught himself with a palm to the ground. There was no fustration, he understood there required a correction.
"Again," he murmured.
Drawing in Hyouton chakra again, he breathed deep and focused on controlling the terrain more precisely. A second pulse adjusted the outer edges of the ice, thickening the shell to remove imperfections. His gaze never waved as he moved back into a combat stance.
Now it was time to test rhythm. He stepped forward in a quick chain of attacks, using the slipperiness beneath to elongate his reach. The blade cut trough the air in elegant arcs. After the third strike, he used a hard plant of his rear foot to spin, letting the ice carry him into a wide, horizontal slash.
He dropped into a low crouch immediately after, sliding on one knee as though carving a path through the frozen world. His momentum slowed just enough to allow a tight vertical cut upward. From a standing stance, it would have taken longer.
On solid ground, the move would've cost him balance. On this field, it granted him speed, so long as he didn't hesitate. As he rose again, he reversed his grip mid-motion, bringing the kodachi into a dagger stance and twisting his torse into a backward cut.
He stopped once more at the center of the glade. His breath left his lips in a slow fog, but his body barely trembled. There was no wasted motion, only refinment.
He sheathed the blade and lifted one foot slowly, balanced on the other. Then he stepped again and began a final lap around the clearing, no slashes, no techniques, just motion. Foot over foot, sliding with poise across the glassy terrain he had created. One more lap, silent and smooth, without so much as a stutter in balance.
When he finished, the ice reflected his figure back at him. Still and composed. The cold had taught him.
And he would return tomorrow for the next lesson.
WC: 744
He exhaled, slow and silent. A faint shimmer of vapor clung to the air before vanishing. Fuyuki knelt, pressing one palm flat to the earth.
Hyouton: Tundra
Chakra surged from his hand and into the ground, blooming outward like invisible roots. Within seconds, the forest floor cracked, hissed and glistened. Ice spread across the clearing in a thin precise sheet. Thirty meters across, smooth and level. A perfect Tundra.
He stepped forward and stood on the frozen surface. The sensation was immediate. His footing became uncertain, the grip of his sandals barely catching. Every small adjustment sent weight into motion. His balance had to respond, or fall behind. That was the point.
Fuyuki closed his eyes for a moment and felt the surface. The ice wasn't natural, he had crafted it, and that meant he could learn from it. His control was high enough now that the terrain didn't warp or crack beneath him. But precision wasn't enough if his body couldn't move through it.
He began simply with forward steps, one after another. Then a backpedal. Then diagonal. Nothing dramatic, just learning how the cold slid beneath his toes, how momentum betrayed balance. With each step, he corrected. He leaned slightly more to the inside of his foot. Adjusted the bend in his knee.
After a few passes, he picked up speed. He began moving in circuits around the perimeter of the field, then zig-zaggign inward. The wind at his back shifted slightly and caught the edge of his kimono, but he didn't let it pull his posture. His steps grew quieter. More deliberate.
Then he stopped. A slow breath, then he stepped forward, drew one of his kodachi, and began again, this time moving with a blade in hand.
Forward. Slash. Slide. Pivot.
He used the ice. Not just as a surface to endure, but as a weapon itself. A sudden crouch into a sweep, and his foot carried him farther than normal. The ice gave him speed, but onyl if he respected its momentum. If he cut too soon or shifted too fast, the motion betrayed him.
He tested that line, again and again. At one point, his foot skidded out from under him in a turn. He caught himself with a palm to the ground. There was no fustration, he understood there required a correction.
"Again," he murmured.
Drawing in Hyouton chakra again, he breathed deep and focused on controlling the terrain more precisely. A second pulse adjusted the outer edges of the ice, thickening the shell to remove imperfections. His gaze never waved as he moved back into a combat stance.
Now it was time to test rhythm. He stepped forward in a quick chain of attacks, using the slipperiness beneath to elongate his reach. The blade cut trough the air in elegant arcs. After the third strike, he used a hard plant of his rear foot to spin, letting the ice carry him into a wide, horizontal slash.
He dropped into a low crouch immediately after, sliding on one knee as though carving a path through the frozen world. His momentum slowed just enough to allow a tight vertical cut upward. From a standing stance, it would have taken longer.
On solid ground, the move would've cost him balance. On this field, it granted him speed, so long as he didn't hesitate. As he rose again, he reversed his grip mid-motion, bringing the kodachi into a dagger stance and twisting his torse into a backward cut.
He stopped once more at the center of the glade. His breath left his lips in a slow fog, but his body barely trembled. There was no wasted motion, only refinment.
He sheathed the blade and lifted one foot slowly, balanced on the other. Then he stepped again and began a final lap around the clearing, no slashes, no techniques, just motion. Foot over foot, sliding with poise across the glassy terrain he had created. One more lap, silent and smooth, without so much as a stutter in balance.
When he finished, the ice reflected his figure back at him. Still and composed. The cold had taught him.
And he would return tomorrow for the next lesson.
WC: 744
Last edited by Vendelcrow on Sat May 31, 2025 4:58 am, edited 2 times in total.
Characters:
Name Village Rank Colour Aisu, Fuyuki Kirigakure Chuunin [color=#87CEEB]
-
Vendelcrow
- Posts: 45
- Joined: Sat May 24, 2025 6:06 am
- Location: Sydney, AUS
Cold Without Cruelty [Solo Training]
The glade was still. Cold air sat low across the ground, and the sky overhead looked colourless. Fuyuki stepped into the field, his boots pressing quietly into the snow. This spot, away from the noise of the village, was one of the few places he felt properly alone. He moved to the centre and crouched. His hand touched the ground. The cold didn’t bother him. It felt right. His chakra started to build and gather as he focused.
“Tundra.”
The freezing wave spread outward immediately. The grass beneath his hand stiffened and died as ice expanded in all directions. Snow hardened into glassy patches, and a thin crust of frost coated everything. By the time he stood again, the clearing had changed. Everything beneath his feet was slick and quiet.
He looked around at the training dummies he’d set up earlier that morning. Some were tilted, already crooked. Good enough. He approached the nearest one, took a deep breath, and gathered chakra in his throat.
“Frozen Breath.”
The cold gust left his mouth and hit the dummy straight in the chest. Frost bloomed across the surface, creeping into the gaps and edges of the frame. The wood tensed and crackled. He didn’t want to break it yet, just weaken it.
He stepped forward and drew a blade. One clean slash. The dummy’s arm dropped into the snow. He didn’t smile, but he was satisfied. That part worked. His focus shifted. This time the chakra didn’t go to his hand or throat, but spread around his body instead. It took a second to stabilise.
“Cryoshell.”
The cold air thickened around him. He could feel it holding close to his skin, clinging faintly to his movement. He started walking. Slow at first. Any sudden motion would ruin the balance. His boots slid slightly on the ice, but his footing held. Ahead of him stood a second dummy, this one with a small shield bolted to its chest. He pulled a kunai from his pouch and began feeding chakra into it.
“Frost Burst.”
The kunai started to give off a slight shimmer. He tossed it, aiming low. It hit the dummy and exploded on impact, shattering into icy fragments. The shield splintered across the middle. Not destroyed, but compromised.
He kept moving. He didn’t stop to admire the result. The cold chakra shifted again, this time focused down into his arms and through the kodachi.
“Chilly Day.”
He struck the third dummy with a light slash. The chill moved through the impact point, spreading cold into the target. It wasn't about damage, it was about disruption. A proper hit would leave someone stunned, gasping. He stepped in and followed up.
“Breath Away.”
Another strike. This time, he could almost imagine the effect on lungs, the way breath would be ripped away in the cold. A few seconds of weakness. Enough to shift the fight. His breathing was faster now. Not from the cold, but from the draw of chakra. He let the Cryoshell drop. It had done its job.
At the far edge of the field, he’d built a wall out of snow-packed wood and a few stakes. Nothing complex. He wanted to see how fast he could defend a target like that. He formed hand seals.
“Frozen Barrier.”
A thick slab of ice shot upward from the ground, taking form in front of the makeshift structure. It locked into place just as he flicked three senbon forward. They struck the ice and held. Not deep. Just enough to show it was working. He walked up and tapped the surface. The barrier was holding steady. It had formed cleanly this time.
He paused. Let a breath hang in his throat. One more. His eyes dropped slightly as he inhaled.
“Morning Chill.”
The temperature dropped again. This time it wasn’t dramatic. Just slow and sinking. The air thickened and visibility blurred. Tiny ice crystals started forming in the mist. Even the trees along the edges of the field looked further away than they had a moment ago.
He didn’t move. For a while he just stood there, breathing in the stillness. No shouting. No explosions. No sparring partner yelling across the field.
Just cold. He liked it this way. Not because it was easy. It wasn’t. The chakra work was exhausting and unforgiving. But it made sense. It was quiet. Clear. This wasn’t about learning something new. It was about refining what he already had. Making it smoother. More natural.
Each technique today had worked how it was meant to. A few could be sharper. A few would need more control. But overall... not bad. He stepped back through the field, past the dummies, past the cracked shield, past the pieces of ice and wood left behind.
No rush. He’d clean it up later.
WC: 799
“Tundra.”
The freezing wave spread outward immediately. The grass beneath his hand stiffened and died as ice expanded in all directions. Snow hardened into glassy patches, and a thin crust of frost coated everything. By the time he stood again, the clearing had changed. Everything beneath his feet was slick and quiet.
He looked around at the training dummies he’d set up earlier that morning. Some were tilted, already crooked. Good enough. He approached the nearest one, took a deep breath, and gathered chakra in his throat.
“Frozen Breath.”
The cold gust left his mouth and hit the dummy straight in the chest. Frost bloomed across the surface, creeping into the gaps and edges of the frame. The wood tensed and crackled. He didn’t want to break it yet, just weaken it.
He stepped forward and drew a blade. One clean slash. The dummy’s arm dropped into the snow. He didn’t smile, but he was satisfied. That part worked. His focus shifted. This time the chakra didn’t go to his hand or throat, but spread around his body instead. It took a second to stabilise.
“Cryoshell.”
The cold air thickened around him. He could feel it holding close to his skin, clinging faintly to his movement. He started walking. Slow at first. Any sudden motion would ruin the balance. His boots slid slightly on the ice, but his footing held. Ahead of him stood a second dummy, this one with a small shield bolted to its chest. He pulled a kunai from his pouch and began feeding chakra into it.
“Frost Burst.”
The kunai started to give off a slight shimmer. He tossed it, aiming low. It hit the dummy and exploded on impact, shattering into icy fragments. The shield splintered across the middle. Not destroyed, but compromised.
He kept moving. He didn’t stop to admire the result. The cold chakra shifted again, this time focused down into his arms and through the kodachi.
“Chilly Day.”
He struck the third dummy with a light slash. The chill moved through the impact point, spreading cold into the target. It wasn't about damage, it was about disruption. A proper hit would leave someone stunned, gasping. He stepped in and followed up.
“Breath Away.”
Another strike. This time, he could almost imagine the effect on lungs, the way breath would be ripped away in the cold. A few seconds of weakness. Enough to shift the fight. His breathing was faster now. Not from the cold, but from the draw of chakra. He let the Cryoshell drop. It had done its job.
At the far edge of the field, he’d built a wall out of snow-packed wood and a few stakes. Nothing complex. He wanted to see how fast he could defend a target like that. He formed hand seals.
“Frozen Barrier.”
A thick slab of ice shot upward from the ground, taking form in front of the makeshift structure. It locked into place just as he flicked three senbon forward. They struck the ice and held. Not deep. Just enough to show it was working. He walked up and tapped the surface. The barrier was holding steady. It had formed cleanly this time.
He paused. Let a breath hang in his throat. One more. His eyes dropped slightly as he inhaled.
“Morning Chill.”
The temperature dropped again. This time it wasn’t dramatic. Just slow and sinking. The air thickened and visibility blurred. Tiny ice crystals started forming in the mist. Even the trees along the edges of the field looked further away than they had a moment ago.
He didn’t move. For a while he just stood there, breathing in the stillness. No shouting. No explosions. No sparring partner yelling across the field.
Just cold. He liked it this way. Not because it was easy. It wasn’t. The chakra work was exhausting and unforgiving. But it made sense. It was quiet. Clear. This wasn’t about learning something new. It was about refining what he already had. Making it smoother. More natural.
Each technique today had worked how it was meant to. A few could be sharper. A few would need more control. But overall... not bad. He stepped back through the field, past the dummies, past the cracked shield, past the pieces of ice and wood left behind.
No rush. He’d clean it up later.
WC: 799
Characters:
Name Village Rank Colour Aisu, Fuyuki Kirigakure Chuunin [color=#87CEEB]
-
Vendelcrow
- Posts: 45
- Joined: Sat May 24, 2025 6:06 am
- Location: Sydney, AUS
Cold Without Cruelty [Solo Training]
Fuyuki stood near the edge of the clearing, arms at his sides. Snow had settled over the field overnight, but not too thick. Just enough to cover the ground and make movement louder than usual if you weren’t careful. That was the point.
He stepped forward and crouched, placing a hand to the ground. The cold felt natural against his skin.
“Hyouton. Tundra.”
The chakra spread across the ground in all directions, freezing everything in its path. Grass turned brittle, the soil stiffened, and a smooth layer of ice formed over the surface. He watched it for a few seconds, then stood. He’d set up ten wooden posts earlier. They were nothing fancy, just old ones chipped and marked from past training. Still, they would do the job.
Fuyuki didn’t draw his swords yet. He walked a slow circle, testing the frozen ground beneath his boots. No chakra grip. No support. If he moved wrong, he’d slip. That was the point of the drill. The air was still, quiet enough to hear the creak of tree branches in the distance. He let the silence settle around him. Everything about this kind of training depended on control.
He came to the first post and stopped. Took a breath. Shifted his weight slightly side to side.
“Swaying Winds.”
His upper body swayed gently with the stance. Not enough to be obvious, but just enough to keep him loose. He reached for his right blade and flipped the grip as he drew.
“Blade Shift.”
The kodachi came out in a reverse grip, silent. He turned and tapped the post with the flat of the blade. It made contact with a soft thud, nothing flashy.
He moved to the next one. This time, a full strike. Not with force, just with speed and control. His foot hit the edge of a slick patch and almost gave out, but he caught himself and carried the momentum into a turn.
Second post. Third. Fourth.
Each step had to be perfect. Not too heavy, not too light. Each strike had to come from the right angle. No wasted motion, and nothing too loud.
At the fifth post, he was starting to feel the rhythm. Right hand, left hand, grip shift, blade pass. His feet slid slightly but recovered. The cold made it harder to grip the hilts, but he adjusted.
He started breathing a bit deeper now. Not from fatigue, just from focusing too long without noticing.
At the seventh post, he moved faster. Drew both blades now. One in reverse, one in standard. He stepped in and let the movements flow together. His arms moved without hesitation.
“Snow Flurry.”
He didn’t say it out loud, just let the technique happen. The wide arc, the X-cut, the follow-up scissor motion. His foot slid again on the final part and the cut came in off-balance. He grimaced slightly and pulled back.
Sloppy.
He reset, took another breath, and tried again, but slower this time. The scissor cut landed properly. No extra sound. No off-step. He looked at the post. Clean cuts. Not perfect, but close enough.
He didn’t move for a few seconds. Just stood still, letting the cold air settle around him. There were no birds calling, no footsteps in the distance, no voices drifting in from the village. Just the soft creak of ice shifting beneath the surface and the sound of his own breath, steady and slow. The field had gone quiet again, like it was holding its breath with him.
The exercise wasn’t about strength. It wasn’t even about speed. It was about movement, silent, controlled, and deliberate.
He walked back across the field the way he came. His steps were softer now, lighter on the ice. Each footfall felt more in tune with the surface than it had before.
Next time, he’d try it with moving targets. Maybe even throw in some perception drills. He could test how well he could keep balance while listening for motion. But for now, this was enough.
Training wasn’t about showing off. It was about getting better, even if just a little.
WC: 685
He stepped forward and crouched, placing a hand to the ground. The cold felt natural against his skin.
“Hyouton. Tundra.”
The chakra spread across the ground in all directions, freezing everything in its path. Grass turned brittle, the soil stiffened, and a smooth layer of ice formed over the surface. He watched it for a few seconds, then stood. He’d set up ten wooden posts earlier. They were nothing fancy, just old ones chipped and marked from past training. Still, they would do the job.
Fuyuki didn’t draw his swords yet. He walked a slow circle, testing the frozen ground beneath his boots. No chakra grip. No support. If he moved wrong, he’d slip. That was the point of the drill. The air was still, quiet enough to hear the creak of tree branches in the distance. He let the silence settle around him. Everything about this kind of training depended on control.
He came to the first post and stopped. Took a breath. Shifted his weight slightly side to side.
“Swaying Winds.”
His upper body swayed gently with the stance. Not enough to be obvious, but just enough to keep him loose. He reached for his right blade and flipped the grip as he drew.
“Blade Shift.”
The kodachi came out in a reverse grip, silent. He turned and tapped the post with the flat of the blade. It made contact with a soft thud, nothing flashy.
He moved to the next one. This time, a full strike. Not with force, just with speed and control. His foot hit the edge of a slick patch and almost gave out, but he caught himself and carried the momentum into a turn.
Second post. Third. Fourth.
Each step had to be perfect. Not too heavy, not too light. Each strike had to come from the right angle. No wasted motion, and nothing too loud.
At the fifth post, he was starting to feel the rhythm. Right hand, left hand, grip shift, blade pass. His feet slid slightly but recovered. The cold made it harder to grip the hilts, but he adjusted.
He started breathing a bit deeper now. Not from fatigue, just from focusing too long without noticing.
At the seventh post, he moved faster. Drew both blades now. One in reverse, one in standard. He stepped in and let the movements flow together. His arms moved without hesitation.
“Snow Flurry.”
He didn’t say it out loud, just let the technique happen. The wide arc, the X-cut, the follow-up scissor motion. His foot slid again on the final part and the cut came in off-balance. He grimaced slightly and pulled back.
Sloppy.
He reset, took another breath, and tried again, but slower this time. The scissor cut landed properly. No extra sound. No off-step. He looked at the post. Clean cuts. Not perfect, but close enough.
He didn’t move for a few seconds. Just stood still, letting the cold air settle around him. There were no birds calling, no footsteps in the distance, no voices drifting in from the village. Just the soft creak of ice shifting beneath the surface and the sound of his own breath, steady and slow. The field had gone quiet again, like it was holding its breath with him.
The exercise wasn’t about strength. It wasn’t even about speed. It was about movement, silent, controlled, and deliberate.
He walked back across the field the way he came. His steps were softer now, lighter on the ice. Each footfall felt more in tune with the surface than it had before.
Next time, he’d try it with moving targets. Maybe even throw in some perception drills. He could test how well he could keep balance while listening for motion. But for now, this was enough.
Training wasn’t about showing off. It was about getting better, even if just a little.
WC: 685
Characters:
Name Village Rank Colour Aisu, Fuyuki Kirigakure Chuunin [color=#87CEEB]
-
Vendelcrow
- Posts: 45
- Joined: Sat May 24, 2025 6:06 am
- Location: Sydney, AUS
Cold Without Cruelty [Solo Training]
Fuyuki stood at the bottom of the slope, eyes tracing the uneven terrain ahead. The incline wasn’t particularly steep, but the ground was scattered with loose stones, shallow dips, and half-exposed roots that had twisted their way out from beneath the soil. The kind of ground that punished carelessness more than aggression.
He crouched down and placed his hand against the cold earth.
“Hyouton. Tundra.”
Chakra flowed outward from his palm in a low, steady pulse. Ice began to creep across the slope, forming a thin sheet over the dirt, crawling over rocks and winding its way around roots until the entire surface had been glazed with frost. It wasn’t thick enough to look dangerous, but it didn’t need to be. Just slick enough to shift the balance underfoot, just cold enough to dull the instinct to push forward too hard.
He stood again, watching the frost settle for a few seconds before drawing in a slow breath. No opponents, no dummies, no sparring partner waiting to clash swords. This was about movement. About control. About keeping his footing when the ground refused to cooperate.
Fuyuki reached for his kodachi and drew them with one smooth motion, each blade settling easily into his hands. He took a single step forward, then another, his boots pressing flat against the ice. No chakra was used to hold him in place. He didn’t want an advantage. He wanted to know exactly where he stood.
The first few strides were careful. His weight shifted with each motion, testing the ice, mapping out how much it would give. The path ahead curved slightly to the right, with a low ridge running across the centre of the slope. He didn’t stop to examine it. Instead, he let his body adjust, falling naturally into Swaying Winds, allowing the constant motion to help him move without resistance.
He wasn’t rushing. Speed wasn’t the goal. It was about keeping each step honest, about recognising the moment his balance tilted and correcting it before it became a fall. When his foot skidded near a small cluster of stones, he didn’t panic. He let the slide turn into a low step and kept going.
About halfway up, he flipped his right blade into a reverse grip.
“Blade Shift.”
The change was subtle, but it altered his posture just enough to make him adjust again. Even a small movement like that could shift weight in the wrong direction if you weren’t paying attention. It was the kind of mistake that didn’t matter in open training, but could cost you everything in the middle of a fight on unstable ground.
At the top of the slope, he didn’t stop. He moved sideways along the ridge, letting the slope test his balance from a different angle. His boots pressed lightly against the ice, each step relying on instinct and control rather than momentum. After a few more paces, he moved straight into Snow Flurry, letting the form guide his motion. The wide arc came first, followed by the X-cut, then the scissor motion, each strike flowing into the next with practiced ease. On the last part of the form, his back foot slid a little too far, and he had to pull the strike short to avoid falling.
He exhaled sharply, stepped back, and reset.
The next attempt was slower, and this time the form held. No stumbles. No extra correction.
He repeated the climb four more times, testing different angles, changing grips mid-movement, adjusting speed as needed. Once, he lost control entirely and slid halfway down before catching himself against a frost-covered root. It didn’t bother him. He wasn’t here to look perfect. He was here to get better.
By the end, his breathing had gone steady and quiet, and the slope beneath him had begun to thaw in places. He could feel the ice softening under his boots.
That was enough for now.
Fuyuki sheathed both blades and turned away from the slope, walking slowly back toward the tree line with a quiet step and a clearer sense of what still needed work.
WC: 681
He crouched down and placed his hand against the cold earth.
“Hyouton. Tundra.”
Chakra flowed outward from his palm in a low, steady pulse. Ice began to creep across the slope, forming a thin sheet over the dirt, crawling over rocks and winding its way around roots until the entire surface had been glazed with frost. It wasn’t thick enough to look dangerous, but it didn’t need to be. Just slick enough to shift the balance underfoot, just cold enough to dull the instinct to push forward too hard.
He stood again, watching the frost settle for a few seconds before drawing in a slow breath. No opponents, no dummies, no sparring partner waiting to clash swords. This was about movement. About control. About keeping his footing when the ground refused to cooperate.
Fuyuki reached for his kodachi and drew them with one smooth motion, each blade settling easily into his hands. He took a single step forward, then another, his boots pressing flat against the ice. No chakra was used to hold him in place. He didn’t want an advantage. He wanted to know exactly where he stood.
The first few strides were careful. His weight shifted with each motion, testing the ice, mapping out how much it would give. The path ahead curved slightly to the right, with a low ridge running across the centre of the slope. He didn’t stop to examine it. Instead, he let his body adjust, falling naturally into Swaying Winds, allowing the constant motion to help him move without resistance.
He wasn’t rushing. Speed wasn’t the goal. It was about keeping each step honest, about recognising the moment his balance tilted and correcting it before it became a fall. When his foot skidded near a small cluster of stones, he didn’t panic. He let the slide turn into a low step and kept going.
About halfway up, he flipped his right blade into a reverse grip.
“Blade Shift.”
The change was subtle, but it altered his posture just enough to make him adjust again. Even a small movement like that could shift weight in the wrong direction if you weren’t paying attention. It was the kind of mistake that didn’t matter in open training, but could cost you everything in the middle of a fight on unstable ground.
At the top of the slope, he didn’t stop. He moved sideways along the ridge, letting the slope test his balance from a different angle. His boots pressed lightly against the ice, each step relying on instinct and control rather than momentum. After a few more paces, he moved straight into Snow Flurry, letting the form guide his motion. The wide arc came first, followed by the X-cut, then the scissor motion, each strike flowing into the next with practiced ease. On the last part of the form, his back foot slid a little too far, and he had to pull the strike short to avoid falling.
He exhaled sharply, stepped back, and reset.
The next attempt was slower, and this time the form held. No stumbles. No extra correction.
He repeated the climb four more times, testing different angles, changing grips mid-movement, adjusting speed as needed. Once, he lost control entirely and slid halfway down before catching himself against a frost-covered root. It didn’t bother him. He wasn’t here to look perfect. He was here to get better.
By the end, his breathing had gone steady and quiet, and the slope beneath him had begun to thaw in places. He could feel the ice softening under his boots.
That was enough for now.
Fuyuki sheathed both blades and turned away from the slope, walking slowly back toward the tree line with a quiet step and a clearer sense of what still needed work.
WC: 681
Characters:
Name Village Rank Colour Aisu, Fuyuki Kirigakure Chuunin [color=#87CEEB]
-
Vendelcrow
- Posts: 45
- Joined: Sat May 24, 2025 6:06 am
- Location: Sydney, AUS
Cold Without Cruelty [Solo Training]
The air was thin in the hills above Kirigakure. Cold in a way that wasn’t sharp or cruel, just settled deep and quiet. The kind of cold that slipped into joints and stayed there. Fuyuki stepped into the clearing with his blades already drawn, boots pressing softly into packed snow. Around him, six training dummies stood in a loose ring, their straw bodies marked by earlier strikes.
He didn’t move straight away. Instead, he let his breath even out. In through the nose. Hold. Out again, slow and steady. His body relaxed with the rhythm, the chill becoming part of him rather than something to resist. Then his weight began to shift, just a little at first. Forward, then back. Then side to side. His hips followed, hands loose, the blades lowering just enough to move with him. The steps were soft, uncertain on purpose, like he might lose his footing at any moment.
This was the opening form of Sekisetsu Swaying Winds. A stance designed to hide intention, to break rhythm before rhythm could begin. There was no clear line in the movement. No tells. Just the sway, like snow drifting in every direction at once.
Without breaking pace, he started working his hands. His grip on the right kodachi shifted smoothly into a reverse hold, then passed across to the left. The movement was fluid, second nature by now. Back again. Left to right. Reverse grip to standard, then back again. This was Shifting Blades, not just switching hands or stances, but doing it without thinking, in motion, mid-strike if needed. The kind of thing that looked showy to an amateur, but meant life or death if you did it wrong in a fight.
He stepped forward, low and quick, and his right blade came up in a rising arc. His left followed close behind, carving upward from the hips in a motion meant to feel like wind lifting snow. At the peak, both hilts twisted in his palms and came down hard across the chest of the nearest dummy. The wood groaned under the pressure. But even before the strike had fully landed, he had slipped into a dagger grip and stepped in close, dragging both blades across the abdomen in a sharp scissoring cut.
He turned on his heel and let momentum guide him into the second strike. The next dummy wasn’t far. He swung wide across its torso, not a cutting blow but enough to jolt. As the blade connected, he pulsed Hyouton chakra through the steel, a sudden flash of cold that would have stolen the breath from a living target.
Then lower again. His right blade skimmed the snow, leaving a shallow groove as he drew it up in an angled slash across the third dummy’s hip and shoulder. His feet never stopped moving. His steps were light, but the power behind them was deliberate. Nothing wasted. Nothing extra.
He worked through the rest of the formation with quiet precision. Some strikes came fast and shallow, meant to test openings. Others dragged long, angled for deep cuts. He mixed steps with feints, grip changes with spins, letting the stance do what it was meant to, which was to confuse, mislead, and open up just enough space to land something real.
Eventually, he came to a stop. The dummies stood still around him, their forms dented and cut, some leaning from the force of his strikes. Frost was starting to build up on his blades, thin but visible, and his breath came out in soft white clouds. He let his arms fall to his sides for a moment, just breathing, listening to the quiet.
These weren’t moves to perform once or twice. They had to be practised until they moved on their own. Until his body remembered them without thought. Until the blade knew exactly where it needed to go before he told it.
He looked up at the treeline. Snow was falling again, light and slow. He exhaled. Then sheathed his swords.
WC: 660
He didn’t move straight away. Instead, he let his breath even out. In through the nose. Hold. Out again, slow and steady. His body relaxed with the rhythm, the chill becoming part of him rather than something to resist. Then his weight began to shift, just a little at first. Forward, then back. Then side to side. His hips followed, hands loose, the blades lowering just enough to move with him. The steps were soft, uncertain on purpose, like he might lose his footing at any moment.
This was the opening form of Sekisetsu Swaying Winds. A stance designed to hide intention, to break rhythm before rhythm could begin. There was no clear line in the movement. No tells. Just the sway, like snow drifting in every direction at once.
Without breaking pace, he started working his hands. His grip on the right kodachi shifted smoothly into a reverse hold, then passed across to the left. The movement was fluid, second nature by now. Back again. Left to right. Reverse grip to standard, then back again. This was Shifting Blades, not just switching hands or stances, but doing it without thinking, in motion, mid-strike if needed. The kind of thing that looked showy to an amateur, but meant life or death if you did it wrong in a fight.
He stepped forward, low and quick, and his right blade came up in a rising arc. His left followed close behind, carving upward from the hips in a motion meant to feel like wind lifting snow. At the peak, both hilts twisted in his palms and came down hard across the chest of the nearest dummy. The wood groaned under the pressure. But even before the strike had fully landed, he had slipped into a dagger grip and stepped in close, dragging both blades across the abdomen in a sharp scissoring cut.
He turned on his heel and let momentum guide him into the second strike. The next dummy wasn’t far. He swung wide across its torso, not a cutting blow but enough to jolt. As the blade connected, he pulsed Hyouton chakra through the steel, a sudden flash of cold that would have stolen the breath from a living target.
Then lower again. His right blade skimmed the snow, leaving a shallow groove as he drew it up in an angled slash across the third dummy’s hip and shoulder. His feet never stopped moving. His steps were light, but the power behind them was deliberate. Nothing wasted. Nothing extra.
He worked through the rest of the formation with quiet precision. Some strikes came fast and shallow, meant to test openings. Others dragged long, angled for deep cuts. He mixed steps with feints, grip changes with spins, letting the stance do what it was meant to, which was to confuse, mislead, and open up just enough space to land something real.
Eventually, he came to a stop. The dummies stood still around him, their forms dented and cut, some leaning from the force of his strikes. Frost was starting to build up on his blades, thin but visible, and his breath came out in soft white clouds. He let his arms fall to his sides for a moment, just breathing, listening to the quiet.
These weren’t moves to perform once or twice. They had to be practised until they moved on their own. Until his body remembered them without thought. Until the blade knew exactly where it needed to go before he told it.
He looked up at the treeline. Snow was falling again, light and slow. He exhaled. Then sheathed his swords.
WC: 660
Characters:
Name Village Rank Colour Aisu, Fuyuki Kirigakure Chuunin [color=#87CEEB]