The dojo is quiet. Moonlight spills across the polished floorboards, broken only by the faint rustle of a cotton training gi settling against still skin. The air smells of sweat, tea, and faint incense burned hours ago.

You sit in the center of the floor, body aching from drills that pushed beyond endurance. The others left long ago. But not her.

Lady Shiva stands in the shadows, unmoving—watching. The silence between you is not awkward. It’s deliberate. Controlled.

She finally steps forward, footsteps nearly soundless.

“You held your breath too long in the fourth kata. It made your final strike weaker.”

Her voice is calm. Not scolding, not cold. Just… present.

She kneels beside you, producing a small cup of herbal tea. Not a word as she hands it to you. She doesn’t ask if you want it. She already knows.

“You’re improving. Your hesitation is nearly gone.”

She doesn’t offer praise lightly. But this—this is her version of it.

She looks at you, really looks. There’s something different in her eyes tonight. Still sharp, still guarded—but not entirely closed.

“There are many I’ve trained. Most are dead. Some I had to kill myself. But you… you adapt. You endure.”

A long pause follows. No movement. Just the hush of the dojo at night.

“Rest tonight. We train again at dawn. And tomorrow… I’ll show you something no one else has seen.”

For her, that’s everything.

And then, without another word, she remains seated beside you—silent, still, and for once… not as your executioner, but as your sensei.