I shattered another stone dummy, the crack echoing through the training yard like thunder. Fragments scattered across the dirt as I stared at my fist, still vibrating from impact.
"Dammit!" I growled, kicking at the broken pieces.
Mom approached, whistling low. "That's the third one this week, tiny ember."
At nine years old, I wasn't so tiny anymore, but the nickname stuck. I flexed my fingers, surprised they weren't bleeding. My crimson skin had darkened over the past year, and the faint orange tattoos that had begun appearing on my forearms glowed briefly with each surge of emotion.
"I didn't mean to break it," I muttered. "I just wanted to hit it hard enough."
"Hard enough for what?" Mother asked, approaching from the house with a cup of tea in her elegant blue hands. "To turn it to dust?"
I shrugged, embarrassed. Since Renji left, I'd thrown myself into training with a ferocity that sometimes scared me. Every day, I imagined my siblings growing stronger on the mainland while I remained behind, still too young to join them.
"Let's try something different," Mother suggested, setting down her tea. "Kaoru, would you mind demonstrating a spar with Yuna?"
Mom grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Thought you'd never ask."
We moved to the sparring circle, a flat area of packed earth surrounded by smooth stones. Mom took a casual stance opposite me, her muscular frame relaxed.
"Remember," Mother called from the sidelines, "this isn't about strength. Focus on strategy, timing, and precision."
I nodded, determined to show control this time. As Mom charged forward with a playful roar, I remembered Mother's lessons about patience and observation. Instead of meeting force with force, I stepped aside, watching for openings.
Mom threw a slow punch—holding back for my benefit—and I ducked under it, analyzing her stance, looking for weaknesses. I circled cautiously, maintaining distance, calculating.
"Good," Mother called. "Now find your moment."
But as I continued to dodge and weave, I realized I was just... waiting. Mom feinted left, then swept my legs from under me before I could decide on a counter.
I landed hard on my back, the wind knocked from my lungs.
"You can't just observe forever," Mom said, offering me a hand up. "At some point, you have to act."
Over her shoulder, I caught Mother and Mom exchanging a look—concern mixed with something else I couldn't quite identify.
That evening at dinner, they made their announcement.
"We think it's time for a little family retreat," Mother said, serving steamed rice into my bowl.
"A retreat?" I asked through a mouthful of grilled fish.
Mom nodded enthusiastically. "To the Sacred Peaks. Just the three of us."
The Sacred Peaks were ancient mountains at the center of our island, said to be the first land formed when the oni ancestors arrived. Few ventured there outside of major ceremonies.
"Why now?" I asked, suspicious of their timing.
Mother's violet eyes met mine. "Because you're struggling to find balance, Yuna. The mountains have a way of... clarifying things."
I stared down at my plate, poking at my food. "Is this because I keep breaking the dummies? Or because I lost the spar?"
"It's because you're trying to be two different people instead of one whole person," Mom said bluntly. "Trust us, the mountains will help."
I wasn't convinced, but I nodded anyway. Maybe a change of scenery would help shake the restlessness that had plagued me since Renji's departure.
We set out at dawn three days later, packs filled with supplies for a week's journey. The path began easily enough, winding through lush jungle where vibrant birds called from the canopy and small creatures scurried through the undergrowth.
As we walked, Mom regaled me with tales of legendary Red Oni warriors.
"Takeshi the Thunderfist once fought an entire pirate crew singlehandedly," she boasted, slashing at imaginary enemies with a stick. "He didn't plan or strategize—he just followed his gut and his fists."
"And ended up with seventeen stab wounds," Mother added dryly.
"Which he survived!" Mom countered. "Because his instincts were true."
The path steepened as we began our ascent. Mist curled around rocky outcroppings, and the air grew cooler. Mother took over the storytelling as we navigated a particularly treacherous section.
"The Blue Oni sage Mizuki once defended our village against a fleet of invaders without raising a single weapon," she said, her voice measured and calm despite the difficult climb. "She studied the tides for months, then lured the ships into the reef during a specific lunar phase. Nature did the fighting for her."
"Boring," Mom stage-whispered to me with a wink.
"Effective," Mother corrected. "The village was saved without a single oni casualty."
I absorbed their stories, wondering which approach was right. Both seemed to work in their own way, yet neither felt completely natural to me.
On our second day in the mountains, we made camp beside a crystal-clear stream that tumbled down from higher peaks. After breakfast, Mother guided me to a flat stone beside the water.
"Today, we practice stillness," she announced, folding herself into a perfect meditation pose.
I tried to mimic her, crossing my legs and straightening my back. The stone was cold beneath me, and the rushing water created a constant background noise that should have been soothing.
It wasn't.
Five minutes in, my foot started tapping. Ten minutes, and I was fidgeting with the hem of my tunic. Fifteen minutes, and I wanted to scream.
"Focus on your breath," Mother murmured, her eyes still closed.
I tried, but my mind raced with thoughts of Rika and Renji, of broken stone dummies, of all the techniques I could be practicing instead of sitting here doing nothing.
"This isn't working," I finally blurted, standing abruptly. "I can't just sit here!"
Mother opened one eye. "Patience is a skill like any other, Yuna. It requires practice."
"Well, maybe I don't want to be patient! Maybe I want to be strong and fast, like Mom!"
From our campsite, Mom's laughter floated over. "Don't drag me into this, tiny ember!"
I stomped away from the meditation spot, frustrated and confused. Why couldn't they understand? I wasn't like either of them.
That night around the campfire, Mom stretched her legs toward the flames and sighed contentedly.
"You know," she began, her voice unusually reflective, "when I was about your age, I nearly killed my best friend."
I looked up from my bowl of stew, startled.
"We were sparring, and someone made a joke about my father being weak. I lost control completely—let my rage take over." She stared into the fire. "If the adults hadn't pulled me off her, I might have..." She shook her head. "Red Oni passion is powerful, but dangerous when unchecked."
Mother reached over to squeeze Mom's hand. "And I once watched a village elder drown because I spent too long calculating the safest way to reach him," she added softly. "By the time I had the perfect plan, it was too late."
The firelight cast shadows across their faces, making them look older, wiser.
"Neither path is perfect, Yuna," Mother continued. "Pure instinct can be destructive. Pure calculation can lead to missed opportunities."
"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked, setting my bowl aside. "I'm not fully Red or fully Blue. I'm... broken in the middle."
"Not broken," Mom corrected firmly. "Blessed with both."
"Tomorrow," Mother said, "we'll see if you can find your own path."
The cliff loomed before me, at least thirty feet of sheer rock face. Near the top, tied to an overhanging branch, fluttered a small red and blue talisman.
"Your challenge," Mom announced, "is to retrieve that talisman."
I studied the rock face, noting potential handholds and pitfalls. Then, without warning, I charged forward and began to climb. Adrenaline surged through me as I pulled myself up, moving quickly and forcefully.
Fifteen feet up, my foot slipped on loose gravel. I scrambled for purchase, my heart pounding as I barely caught myself on a narrow ledge.
"Careful!" Mother called from below.
I glanced down—a mistake. The ground seemed much farther away than I'd expected. My hands began to sweat, and panic rose in my throat.
"I can't do it," I called down.
"Then come back and try again," Mom replied. "But differently this time."
Slowly, I made my way back down. Once on solid ground, I sat and stared at the cliff, catching my breath.
"What went wrong?" Mother asked.
"I rushed in without really looking," I admitted. "I was just thinking about getting to the top as fast as possible."
I spent the next hour studying the cliff face, noting every possible route. When I felt ready, I approached again—but this time, I moved deliberately. Powerful pulls upward when the holds were sturdy, careful testing when they weren't. I paused at tricky sections, assessing before continuing.
When I finally grasped the talisman, a strange sense of accomplishment washed over me—different from the pure exhilaration of breaking a dummy or the quiet satisfaction of solving a puzzle. It was something new.
Something that felt like me.
That evening, Mom challenged me to a light spar before dinner. As we circled each other, I felt a new awareness in my movements—not just Mother's calculated precision or Mom's raw power, but a rhythm that flowed between both.
Mom lunged with a straightforward attack. Instead of dodging completely or meeting it head-on, I shifted slightly—a Blue Oni move—then suddenly exploded forward with Red Oni force, catching her wrist and using her own momentum to pull her off-balance.
For a brief moment, surprise flashed across her face before she tumbled to the ground.
"Well," she said, looking up at me with newfound respect. "That's new."
Later, as we sat beneath a canopy of stars, I felt a strange peace settle over me. The constant war between my two natures had quieted, replaced by something that felt like harmony.
"It's not about choosing," I said suddenly, understanding dawning. "It's about knowing when to be which."
Mother smiled, her indigo tattoos glowing softly in the darkness. "Or perhaps, being both at once."
Mom ruffled my hair affectionately.