Calm Before the Storm

Jiro Sensei stood at the center of the courtyard, his sleeves pushed back, rain beading on his forearms. He pivoted slowly, his hands tracing arcs through the air. Lyra mirrored him a few paces away, her steps precise but unhurried.

“Center,” Jiro said. His voice was calm, almost lost in the wind.

“I’m centered,” Lyra replied, though her eyes flickered toward the edge of the courtyard where supplies were being lashed down.

Jiro moved closer, the polished soles of his sandals barely whispering against the stones. “Then stop looking past me.”

Lyra’s gaze snapped back. She exhaled, raising her hands as he advanced. Their wrists met with a gentle clap. He pressed forward, but Lyra turned, redirecting the energy to spin him off-balance.

“Good,” Jiro said, regaining his footing with ease. “But you’re letting me lead too much. The storm won’t.”

Lyra straightened. “The storm doesn’t follow forms.”

“No.” Jiro shifted forward again, this time sudden and sharp. Lyra barely caught the motion, stepping aside to redirect him. “It overwhelms. It presses from every direction. So—”

He pivoted into her space, forcing her to move or be caught. She sidestepped, guiding his momentum outward, where it dissipated harmlessly.

“—we move with it,” Lyra finished, breathless but steady.

Jiro nodded. “Exactly.” He stepped back, his posture softening as he gestured toward the horizon. “The barriers will hold if we give them time. The village will endure if we stay flexible. But that’s not enough. We have to flow through the aftermath too.”

Lyra bent to adjust the ties on her sleeves. “You think Victor’s storm won’t stop at the barriers.”

“I think Victor’s already inside them.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the wind tugging at their clothes.

Finally, Jiro tapped his foot against the stone, a sharp, grounding sound. “Again.”

Lyra smiled faintly. “You just don’t want to haul supplies.”

“Correct.” Jiro’s stance shifted, ready. “Besides, you need the practice.”