Sword Of Kaigen Quotes

Wholeness, she had learned, was not the absence of pain but the ability to hold it.

Listen, son… when I was your age, I had to face truths that seemed to break the world. That’s what happens when you come into contact with people who aren’t quite like you. You learn over time that the world isn’t broken. It’s just… got more pieces to it than you thought. They all fit together, just maybe not the way you pictured when you were young.

A decade later, a fifteen-year-old Hiroshi would become known as the youngest swordsman ever to master the Whispering Blade. What the world would never know, was that he was the second youngest.

What are you?” Takeru whispered. Something bigger than myself , she realized. “I’m Matsuda Misaki,” she said with pride and honesty she never attached to those words before. “I’m your wife.” And she attacked him.

But if I learned one thing from Firebird, it’s that a person’s tragedy doesn’t define them or cancel all the good in their life.

I’ve never needed a sword to protect you—to raise you the way your father wanted. Caring for my family meant putting away the fighter, so I did.

Stay,” she said softly and tugged him in until their bodies leaned together. “Stay and watch the sun set with me.

A life of dangerous adventures might seem worth it now, when you are young and seemingly invincible, but one day, you will have children, and you will not want that life for them.

This... you are my story... and I was so selfish, so tied to that shadow that I missed it. And my son, I— I’m so sorry it took me this long to understand. I’m sorry—” the words caught in her throat, choking her, until pain shot through her chest, forcing her to let them out. “I never loved you the way I should have.

listening never made any man dumber, but it’s made a lot of people smarter.

But unencumbered by the tight kimono or the childish cowardice that had bound her for years, she had become a new creature, more fluid and boundless than a girl but more solid than a shadow—a woman of lightning sinew and roaring blood.

Most strong things are rigid. If you are water, you can shift to fit any mold and freeze yourself strong. You can be strong in any shape. You can be anything.

You might have twenty years with him. You might only have two. If you waste that time, if you miss it, then when it ends, you’re going to feel like the biggest idiot who ever lived.

The Whispering Blade met Misaki’s obsidian sheath and sheared through it. Her eyes went wide, and she smiled—Gods in the Deep, she smiled —a raw, open smile, and it was the most beautiful thing in all the Duna.

What sort of a man closed his eyes to the world and called it clarity?

Misaki tied the obsidian sword at her hip and realized how much she had ached for its weight there. A baby just wasn’t the same.

Was the headmaster serious about challenging people to single combat? You guys really still do that?” “How else would we settle our differences?” “I don’t know. Talking?

A student like you, who can absorb what he is told but also think beyond it, is capable of anything.

Let’s be older when we meet again,” Misaki said. “What?” “Not just in years. Let’s be better, and wiser, and brighter next time.

I don’t know if you noticed, Headmaster, but the enemy is a tornado. What are you going to do?” “Kill it,” Takashi said.

This child is our blood. She belongs to all of us, and it is our responsibility to find her safe.

A decade later, a fifteen-year-old Hiroshi would become known as the youngest swordsman ever to master the Whispering Blade. What the world would never know, was that he was the second youngest.

People always said the Ranganese were demons of a different breed from the Kaigenese, but their blood seemed to be the same color, now that they lay still, letting it run together. They had all come out of the same ocean, hadn’t they? At the beginning of the world?

Power was born into a person and lived in the wordless depths of their soul.

Flayed and boneless, he faced the creature he had awakened, this woman of god’s blood and fury.

The enemy is a tornado. What are you going to do?' 'Kill it.

You’re guilty of the same thing I am—trying to please and obey your elders.” Misaki shook her head. “Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter anymore. None of them are here to give us the answers anymore. We’re all out of parents, and grandparents and brothers... It’s just us…

I feel like I’m in one of those old samurai movies.

You learn over time that the world isn’t broken. It’s just… got more pieces to it than you thought. They all fit together, just maybe not the way you pictured when you were young.

It was the teeth of winter. It was poetry. It was God in water.

You lost your right to my obedience when you stopped being a man!

He recovered smoothly, his feet quickly finding their stance again in the gathering snow, but he looked stunned. The feat of strength, from such a diminutive theonite, should not have been possible. “What are you?” Takeru whispered. Something bigger than myself, she realized. “I’m Matsuda Misaki,” she said with pride and honesty she never attached to those words before. “I’m your wife.

Maybe that was the ‘how’ Robin had been looking for, the simple magic by which she held herself together. Love for what she had and what was gone. Love no matter the pain.

It was a question of whether he would die quickly, with all his spirit intact, or slowly, after the evils of the world had ripped and beaten every shred of optimism out of him.

I'm Matsuda Misaki," she said with pride and honesty she never attached to those words before. "I'm your wife." And she attacked him.

Yes, my son. I’m proud of you.” “I’m not sure I’m worthy of your pride,” Mamoru said with a smile, “but I will be. Just wait.

Wholeness, she had learned, was not the absence of pain but the ability to hold it

She evaded and drove her hairpin into the side of his neck, burying the hair ornament all the way up to the flowery bauble at the end. He choked, blood spattering from his mouth, and clawed at his throat.

I know you might feel broken, but we’re jijakalu. We’re water, and water can shift to fit any mold. No matter how we’re broken and reshaped, we can always freeze ourselves strong again. It’s not going to happen all at once,” she added. “You have to wait for the turn of the season to see what shape the ice will take, but it will form up, clear and strong. It always does.

Neither of us is that naïve anymore, but I can tell you to live the time you have with that boy instead of spending it on worry and regret. You might have twenty years with him. You might only have two. If you waste that time, if you miss it, then when it ends, you’re going to feel like the biggest idiot who ever lived.

Be careful, big brother, she wanted to say then, be careful how hard you love what you know you can’t have, but that also was not her place.

It’s like I stepped through a portal back in time.

Respectfully, I just want to know how you feel about your government lying to you.

Learn to read the situation, you moron.

What fighting style?” Kwang raised his eyebrows. “Video games.

she wished, from the depth of her aching chest, that her claws could pull a life back to the Duna as easily as they could tear one out of it.

a person’s tragedy doesn’t define them or cancel all the good in their life.

The Whispering Blade met Misaki’s obsidian sheath and sheared through it. Her eyes went wide, and she smiled—Gods in the Deep, she smiled—a raw, open smile, and it was the most beautiful thing in all the Duna.

Who says that children belong to their fathers? We carry them, we nourish them inside us, we bring them into the world, we do all the work in raising them. Then these men—these men think they can just take them and kill them?

The cruelest thing Misaki could do to a bitter creature like her father-in-law was keep serving, smiling, and pushing out babies like nothing bothered her. The cruelest thing she could do was serve her purpose—like he never could.

Izumo stood, the branches of the young pine brushing his hair, and Misaki beamed. No matter what he grew into, she was excited to see it. This time she wouldn’t miss a moment of it. Holding Izumo’s hand, she bowed toward the black pine a last time. Until tomorrow, Mamoru.

I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but please... if your poor, stupid mother can ask one last thing of you... let me hold you one more time. Just one more time, you're going to let Kaa-chan hold you and treasure you the way i should have the day you were born. Then I'm going to let you go on with all my blessings. Is that alright? Finawu said it was not good for a woman to touch the dead, but Takayubi's Finawu had all been lost in the tornado with their temple. There was no one to judge Misaki as she gathered her boy into her arms and settled down to hold him for the last time.

This was the joy they had all promised, in a single, simple hope: Mamoru might grow up to be different from his father.

Was she a jaseli? A koro? An adyn?” “No, no.” Robin smiled. “None of those things. He married a nice, successful numu by the name of Nyeru Dumbaya.” “Nyeru? But... isn’t that a man’s name?” “Well, that was the part his parents didn’t like.” Misaki gasped, both hands flying to her mouth. “No!” “Did you not know that Koli was gay?” Robin looked amused.

A mother was supposed to go to the temple after the death of a child. She was supposed to speak to the spirits of the Dead until she had said all she needed to say to the child, until all her unresolved feelings were spent, all conflicts resolved, all grudges laid to rest, until the finawu were satisfied that the deceased could move on in peace.

I’m Matsuda Misaki,” she said with pride and honesty she never attached to those words before. “I’m your wife.

Gods in the Deep, she smiled—a raw, open smile, and it was the most beautiful thing in all the Duna.

Listening never made any man dumber, but it's made a lot of people smarter.

She might not be worthy of belonging to this family, but she was going to protect it with every bit of venom and bloodlust and underhanded trickery in her.

Misaki found herself face to face with four men in yellow uniforms—well, not quite face to face. Her body was angled slightly to hide the sword at her hip, giving her the appearance of a diminutive housewife. In its own way, that was better cover than any shadow.

A child can trust in his parents to tell him what to do. A man trusts himself.

What are you?” Takeru whispered. Something bigger than myself, she realized. “I’m Matsuda Misaki,” she said with pride and honesty she never attached to those words before. “I’m your wife.” And she attacked him.

And a part of her understood that there was nothing crueler than denying a warrior the fight he was born for. That, in its own way, was worse than death.

there are a million ways to tell the same story. Our job as jaseliwu is to find the one the listener needs to hear. Not necessarily the one that makes them the happiest or the one that gives them the most information, but the one they need to hear to do what they need to do.

It had been too long since she had found the courage to fight for something. If she couldn’t fight for her own children, then who was she? What had she become?

You can learn a great deal listening to people with different experiences from your own. A jaseli once told me, listening never made any man dumber, but it’s made a lot of people smarter.

To deny what happened here—to ourselves or to anyone else—is the greatest disservice we could do our dead.

When she was younger, Misaki had always pictured herself having daughters. She had enjoyed the vague fantasy of raising powerful, forward-thinking young women with the courage to amount to more than their mother, but it was just that: a fantasy.

A competent god would never make a housewife with your skill and hunger. You might look like a decorative flower, but you’re more sword than anything else.

follows night, why men marry women.

When it is too much to be a man, I am the mountain.

deftly-wielded fan could amplify fonya, doubling its range and power.

this is the last time you will be weak in front of me. One of us is going to rest here with our son. Draw!

In the falling snow, Takeru stared at the woman he had married and saw her for the first time. “I accept.

You’re telling me that when your feelings are inconvenient to you, you just… get rid of them?

From those, Misaki selected a slender wakizashi and tested its weight in her hands.

It wasn’t a question of whether or not he was going to die. It was a question of whether he would die quickly, with all his spirit intact, or slowly, after the evils of the world had ripped and beaten every shred of optimism out of him.

Why? Why are they firing on us?” Because we don’t matter, Misaki thought numbly. The only thing the Empire cares about is stopping the Ranganese here. It doesn’t matter how many of us get caught in the crossfire.

What did she have to fear from a coward with no soul and no spine?

Sometimes she found it difficult to believe that the brothers could have shared a roof with her all these years and not picked up on her combat background. Then again, it was very possible that the sexism inherent to their upbringing had created a blind spot so opaque that they weren’t capable of recognizing those abilities in a woman.

His nyama, finally relaxed, started drawing him into the embrace of sleep.

His meaning was clear: keep quiet and you may get the aid you need to survive. Be a good dog, and you may live.

Gathering the boy into her arms, she held him tight, and loved him, loved him as hard as she could, and hoped it would be enough to wash everything else away. Hiroshi, as always, was cold.

Somehow, despite everything, despite this tiny village, his frigid father, his bitter mother, his brainwashing school, despite all of it, Mamoru was growing up into a good person.

She had thought she was water that could adjust to fill any container, be as strong in the shape of a mother as a warrior, but in the end, maybe Koli had been right about her. She was a knife, a sharp edge, that killed or cut anything it touched. The babies she hadn’t killed in her womb had been born into a world of blades that cut them down before they had a chance to grow. Now the evil in her had risen out of her sleep and turned its wrath on her husband.

Snow whirled faster around them as Misaki crashed into the Whispering Blade a fourth time—shattering it.

I’m sorry I left you in silence all this time,” Takeru said. “I don’t know if I understand it… but I am glad we fought today.” Misaki nodded. “Me too.

About weapons, not boys!” Misaki said. “Oh my Gods! So, his parents disinherited him because he married a man?

the swords in Kaigen

Mamoru wished he couldn’t hear the words—tried not to hear them—

The pain was sharp, but small, unimportant somehow. Suddenly, it wasn’t as though he was missing fingers. His fingers were the snow. They were the rivers, reaching all the way down the mountain to sink into the ocean and grasp the power of gods. He wasn’t bleeding out. He was the mountain. For the first time in his life, he was perfectly, overwhelmingly whole.

We are the Sword of Kaigen,

I believe I killed eight before you arrived to ‘protect’ me and one more when you refused to protect Hyori. Or did you think they had all dropped dead of their own accord?

Love for what she had and what was gone. Love no matter the pain.

As the spirits faded, so did the last of the ties that had bound Misaki to the horizon for so many years, dissolving like threads of blood in water.

She might not be worthy of belonging to this family, but she was going to protect it with every bit of venom, and bloodlust, and underhanded trickery in her.

Her sons were Matsudas first and foremost. Their sole purpose was to grow to be powerful warriors, like their father before them, and his father before him. They belonged to the Matsuda house, as she did.

Why don’t you try taking responsibility for the things you can control instead of the things you can’t?

You’re only a boy, but you fought to the last like a man. You did well here. But I’m sure you know that…” A painful, nearly hysterical smile jerked at the corners of Misaki’s mouth. “No warrior could have fought through injuries like yours without being sure of himself.

It had been a long time since someone had spoken of Misaki with that sort of simple confidence—taking for granted that she was right and good. She stared at Setsuko for a moment and realized that she had forgotten how to respond to this type of kindness. It was something she thought she had left behind nine years ago.