# Chapter 10: The Weight of Emptiness
The red-eyed man across from me wasn't breathing right again.
What are you? I wondered for the dozen times, watching him hold his sword with technical perfection. What ancient being crawled into that body and decided to play human?
The crowd's whispers washed.
He tilted his head, a movement too smooth, and calculated. Those crimson eyes held amusement but no warmth.
The sun balanced on the horizon, painting everything the color of old blood. In moments, we'd begin our pointless display of sword.
Standing there, waiting.
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Five Years Ago - The Minamoto Estate
The tea was always too hot.
My mother did it intentionally, I think. Watching me try not to flinch as the ceramic burned my fingers, maintaining perfect posture while my throat screamed from the scalding liquid. Small cruelties disguised as tradition.
"Your form is improving," she said, which meant it was still unacceptable but she was tired of correcting me.
