Chapter Two - The First Trial

The Celestial Estate was never truly still.

Even in the soft twilight hours, there was always the sound of wind whispering through the sakura trees, or the faint ripple of water in the Star Pond. But on this night, when Amaya was barely nine years old, the air felt… different.

Heavier.

She had been reading by lamplight in her chambers—a scroll of old constellations drawn by hands long dead—when the lamp’s flame sputtered. The silvery glow of the estate seemed to dim, like a lantern covered by a shadow.

A chill ran down her spine.

She rose, padding silently across the tatami mats, and slid her door open. The corridor beyond was empty, but the soft hum of the estate’s magic felt muted, like the deep breath before a storm.

She had never seen the sky above the estate completely dark. Until now.

Amaya hurried to the central courtyard. The Star Pond, usually a perfect mirror of the heavens, was black. Not the deep, endless black of space—but a heavy, suffocating void.

She knelt at the edge, her heart pounding. “Why…” she whispered. “Why have you gone silent?”

The water rippled in answer, though no wind stirred. A shape began to form in the void—two eyes, wide and lidless, glimmering faintly red. A low, distorted growl reverberated through the air, not from the pond, but everywhere at once.

Amaya stumbled back.

This was no star.

From the shadows beyond the torii gate, a form stepped into the courtyard. It was human‑shaped, but too tall, its limbs too thin, its skin pale as moonlight. Black veins crawled up its neck and face, and its mouth was full of jagged teeth. A demon—yet nothing like the ones she’d glimpsed in the Master’s illustrated records.

It tilted its head, eyes fixed on her. “A little one,” it rasped, its voice like rust scraping stone. “And yet… you reek of the heavens.”

She swallowed hard, her small fingers curling into fists. “You are not meant to be here.”

It laughed—a sound that made the air twist unnaturally around her. “Nor are you.”

Amaya had trained with her wooden blade every day, but she had never drawn a real one. Not until now. From the wall rack near the veranda, she pulled down a sheathed katana meant for practice drills. Her hands trembled as she slid it free, the steel whispering like a living thing.

The demon took a step forward, its feet making no sound on the stone. “Do you know what happens to children when they stand alone?” it asked.

Her fear was real—but so was the voice in her mind, the one that had always been there when she looked at the stars.

You are not alone.

And then she felt it—heat in her chest, rising, spreading through her limbs. Her vision sharpened. Above the estate, the darkness shifted, revealing a single point of light piercing the void. It grew, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.

The demon lunged.

Amaya stepped aside, the movement almost instinctual, her blade flashing upward. The steel bit into its shoulder, and silver light erupted from the wound, searing like fire. The demon shrieked, reeling back, clutching at the smoking gash.

Amaya didn’t understand what had happened—but the star above her pulsed brighter. Silver motes began to fall from the sky, landing on her blade, coating it in a faint glow. Her breath slowed, deepened, and without meaning to, she whispered words she had never been taught:

“Celestial Breathing, Seventh Form—Silver Veil.”

Light exploded around her, forming a shimmering barrier between her and the demon. The creature struck at it, but each blow dissolved into harmless sparks.

Still, the barrier wavered. She could feel her strength bleeding away. This form wasn’t meant for a child—it was raw, unshaped power, and it was eating at her limbs like fire.

The voice returned, urgent now.

Strike. End it.

The barrier collapsed into a rain of motes, clinging to her blade. Her feet shifted into a stance she did not remember learning—low, balanced, her weight perfectly centered. The air around her stilled.

She exhaled.

“Final Form… Heavenfall.”

The world seemed to slow. The star above flared, bathing the estate in silver light. Her blade moved in a single, perfect arc—neither too fast nor too slow, but inevitable. It cut through the demon’s neck like silk.

The head hit the ground, dissolving before it could bounce. The body followed, breaking apart into fine dust that scattered on an unfelt wind.

When it was over, the estate’s glow returned. The Star Pond shimmered once more with the constellations, the sky overhead alive with their watchful light.

Amaya’s knees buckled, the katana slipping from her grasp. She fell forward, catching herself on her palms, gasping for air. Her arms trembled violently.

“Amaya.”

The Master’s voice came from the veranda. Kagaya Ubuyashiki stepped into the courtyard, his pale features calm but his eyes unreadable. Behind him, several Kakushi rushed forward but stopped when he raised a hand.

“You called upon Heavenfall,” he said softly. “Too soon.”

She swallowed, tears pricking at her eyes. “I… I didn’t mean to.”

He approached, kneeling so they were at eye level. “The stars never act without reason. Tonight, they tested you. And you prevailed.”

“I was afraid,” she admitted, her voice small.

“As you should be,” he replied, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Courage is not the absence of fear—it is the choice to act in spite of it.”

That night, she lay in her chamber, unable to sleep. Through the open shoji, she could see the stars above the balcony. One in particular—bright, steady—seemed to pulse faintly, as if in acknowledgment.

She whispered, “Thank you.”

Somewhere deep in her chest, warmth answered.

She didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning of her life’s true path—the first step toward becoming the unseen shield of the Nine Hashira, the guardian they would never know walked beside them.

The stars had chosen her.

And one day, she would understand why.

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