"This place is huge, I wonder how Grandma and Grandpa could have lived here and kept this place clean by themselves for so many years." My twin sister's voice drifted to my ears from behind me. We stood in front of a centuries old Japanese manor.

Even over the ivy covered stone gate, it was easy to see the faded and worn slopes of the grey tiled roof. Under it we could see equally faded wooden walls. The stone gates stood at roughly six and a half feet, much taller than my sister and I, standing at a mere five-foot-four-inches. The stones of the gate had become plastered to their spots in the wall, now fused as one large stone as time took its toll. The wood of the entryway was just as old as everything else, but looked thick and sturdy. It had deep carvings, now too filled with dirt and stones to distinguish, showed cherry blossoms were in full bloom, peeking over the wall like nosy suburban moms made of pink fluff. It's picturesque, too picturesque. It looks more like something out of a tourist guidebook than an actual home. For a moment I wondered if I were dreaming. This place had become ours, left to us by our father's parents after they passed away and we became 18, which was only weeks ago. The thought was still strange to me.

My sister was popping the gum she'd been chewing since we got off the twenty hour flight from America. I was close to putting my fist down her throat if only to make her stop popping that damn gum. She skipped ahead of me with surprising energy, shoving on the dirty gates. The old wood opened with surprising ease for the filth that had collected in the nine years it had stayed door squealed in protest and I walked on ahead.

My eyes wandered over the old, large single story home that once housed the elderly couple we saw every holiday and summer. In front of the house, spanning from the sides to the gate was a large courtyard that we would play in as children. The dojo was tucked away in the far corner of the yard. It was merely an old, larger than average, storage shack that, despite the cleaning and repairs, still leaked during heavy rain. Our grandfather and father converted it into a place for training and practice. It was the place my father learned some of the many Martial Arts of Japan; Kendo(1), Aikido(2), Judo(3), Goju-ryu karate(4) were his points of interest. It was also the place my own training had started. That was before our family tore itself apart.

I entered the home finding the air was filled with ginger, the scent lingering after so many empty summers. I sighed, feeling like I'm breathing memories. The fact that the smell still clung to the walls was both shocking and comforting. I wandered on without my sister into the kitchen, where, when they were alive, the smell was usually strongest. Grandma was always boiling fresh ginger root for her ginger-mint tea. It was, for me, the most relaxing place, next to Grandpa's dojo.

I could still see my grandmother. Her petite form swallowed by her favorite pink and purple kimono, her silver hair that she swept up out of her face into a bun. I remembered her loving smile. I remembered the way she could always see when I got upset or tired from training. She would make me her special green tea ice cream with iced mint tea. The flavors were so strange yet tasted good to a tired child on the verge of tears. I couldn't help but wonder if I could find the recipes somewhere. Over that treat, she would talk with me. More often than not she could get me to tell her my troubles, which often revolved around my family or bullies I escaped over break. She would nod with a grim smile. She once told me that people don't know how to deal with those who are extraordinary. Like the girls that stole my bag and threw it out the window. They were jealous and I should learn to forgive. I never understood where she got that idea, and never forgave them.

I remembered my grandfather. His sweaty face with a thin, short wave of gray hair stuck to his forehead hovering just over dark chocolate brown eyes. The smell of sweat and ginger that always clung to him. I remembered his clothing that varied from a black gi to his more common kimono and hakama.. He would come in to sit with me, trying to steal some of my treat and pretend to hurt when grandma would swat his arm. I would always sneak him a bite when she turned her back, but I know she always saw. His appearance was gruff from working hard his whole life. He was a man that could go from laughing and joking, to dangerous and brutal then back in the blink of an eye. He would train me until I was ready to collapse but would always wait for me to bounce back. Once he was asked to train some kids when we were visiting them one summer and he let me help. He went easy on them, compared to how he trained me. Despite this they all complained. He quit. Later when I asked Grandma why she simply said, "Someone that couldn't accept the good and the bad, had no business in learning martial arts."

Both were such amazing people. Grandma, her soothing voice and nurturing wisdom. And Grandfather, with his honor and strength that no man could rival. Also, his kind heart that gave him the strength to help those he loved and those who couldn't protect themselves. They were my heroes. They were protagonists who had lived out their adventures and left so many stories untold.

Why did they have to disappear? This question still echoed in my head. The memory of when I first heard the news still lingers. It's a memory I didn't like to explore. It remained buried deep in my mind and I would do almost anything to keep it that way.

Since their bodies were never found they could still be alive though, right? I would never lose hope.

The next few years weren't something I enjoyed remembering either. Even despite my best efforts, the years stayed prominent. They were the best years of my life, and the worst at the same time. I'm trapped by them. The smell of stale alcohol, smoke, blood, and sex clung to me despite the months I had been away from that life.

I would wake up yelling and curses echoing in my ears from deep memories turned nightmares. The illusion of blood oozing out of cuts and scrapes that littered my knuckles and body tickling my skin. I try to wipe it off, but you can't clean up the past. I would sit up screaming and flailing, trying to protect my life and honor from imaginary assailants . It was always my secret, no one would know about my horror or weakness. Not even Akari could know. Only my best friend, Arie, knew anything about it. Even then she found out by sneaking into my sleeping area after I tried giving up my previous life. We were closer than family ever could be so it's not surprising that she found out. Though it was strange, we should have been enemies yet there was something about her that I was drawn to. Just a feeling I had to protect her and learn about her when we first meet that had us crossing paths over and over again.

I left the room, leaving those memories behind, and started down the hall to see the rest of the house.

I didn't get far before I passed a bathroom and glanced inside, coming face-to-face with a girl. Her piercing studded face, dark brown-streaked-blue hair, and matching cobalt blue eyes all seemed worn and tired. Her hair had stray strands sticking out a loose ponytail that almost hid blue streaks. And her eyes were too tired, too tormented by unspoken pain that couldn't be caused from a simple flight. The pain, I knew, would normally be hidden if not for the fatigue caused by lack of sleep. Even the clothing she wore seemed tired.

The skin that showed held a golden-olive complexion from her mixed lineage but various places held pale lines and marks in the form of scars. Most of the scars had faded with time to the point of near invisibility that only the owner could see every mark with the memory of how they were all obtained.

Over all she looked as if she had been a long war that she had been fighting all her life. One that she was slowly losing.

I hate my reflection. Was all I could think. I always had hated mirrors.

As I stared into the mirror I thought of my sister.

Same complexion without the scars, same hair minus the blue, same face but no fatigue. Her attitude was far different than mine and her upbringing was even farther off, despite living in the same house for the first part of our lives. Even her style was different, mostly in that she had one. She was all soft curves and sheltered feminine grace. No one would doubt her gender. She's everything I could have been.

There was a short moment where I couldn't look away. My hand wandered to the pocket of my sweater. I felt my fingertips brush a piece of fabric, a hat. I carefully pulled out the beanie, rubbing the tightly stitched yarn between my fingers. I looked over the green hat, then looked up into the mirror. I let my hair fall loosely around my shoulders and down my back and put on the hat and smiled, the reflection looked what could only be described as sorrowful.

The hat stood out against my dark pallet. Such a bright and childish hat, knitted to look like a watermelon, doesn't suit someone with my attitude, yet it was as much part of me as my fists. I doubted it ever not be. I was known as Melon for so many years that I would be shocked if I could ever put it behind me.

I realized I was dwelling on the past and snatched the hat from my head, stuffing it back in my pocket where it now belonged. Continuing on down the hall, I ignored all other mirrors.

I passed my old bedroom, the one they saved just for me when I visited. It was just as I last saw it, clean except for the training gear scattered around the room. Striking pads littered the floor. Practice weapons leaned in one corner while their dangerous counterparts leaned in another. The closet I knew was filled with uniforms for every practice, usually in a shade of blue or lavender. The bed was made neat now but that was not the case all those years ago. After long days of training it had been my favorite resting spot. I took notice of a new uniform laid in the center of the bed, as one often was before Grandpa would start training me in a new style. I tried to think if I had seen it before or not. The fabric looked light like silk and was a striking soft blue. It seemed like it was meant to be light and loose, easy to move in.

It took me a moment to realize he planned to teach me tai chi. I had asked so many times but he was set on sticking to Japanese martial arts. He had said we were honor bound to keep the traditions of our heritage alive.

With a soft sigh, I continued on through the house occasionally stopping to reminisce of my time with my grandparents until I reached the far corner of the house. I then stood in front of a door, one of the only doors in the house that was made of solid wood. I was never aloud in any of them, but out of all of them, Grandma and Grandpa guarded this the closest. I was never even allowed close to it nonetheless inside. I couldn't resist.

I tested the doorknob and wasn't surprised to see it was locked. I pulled a small locking picking kit that was given to me on my fourteenth birthday and started carefully picking the lock. It was relatively easy to unlock so the door opened quickly. I was surprised by what I saw.

The room was small with deep blue walls painted with flames. In the dim light, the walls quivered eerily with life. There is a single dark wood wardrobe in the middle of the room. The wardrobe looked to be nothing special, a simple design with simple wooden handles, but I was drawn to it. A sharp tugging pulled me forward, like a hand was wrapped around my throat easing me toward the doors. I soon stood before them, but couldn't find the courage to pull the knobs.

Remember Sora, my grandfather's voice echoed through my mind, instincts are not always a trustworthy tool. Just as your eyes and ears, instincts can trick you as well. When your body instructs you to run, think about your situation. When your mind agrees listen to your body. Fear is simply an illusion. Never run from a fight or face dishonor.

Resolve settled as I grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. Heat flooded out from the glowing blue flames roaring inside. The blue fire quickly created a living, growing ring around me until I could see nothing else. The heat didn't burn exactly, but instead felt like needles jabbing into my skin until my entire body felt numb. I could only stand still as terror filled me. Eventually the only things I could feel were the fire and a pair of sadisticly evil eyes.

"Stay out! Leave this realm alone, Keeper!" The voice was demonic, without a doubt . I couldn't face this thing. I couldn't fight it. It was beyond my power.

I saw the world go black. I didn't feel myself hit the ground.

;~~oO0Oo~~;

Waking on the floor was never fun, especially with no memory of how I got there. I groaned and sat up, rubbing my aching head. I wondered if I had slipped and fell when the sound of passing cars caught my attention..

I looked around and started trying to find the source of the noise. We had to walk quite a while to reach this house so no way there a car passing that close. It could have been a recording, but the room was empty except for the wardrobe, whose doors were now wide open. Through the doors, I could see a street. Not a painting on the inside of the wardrobe, I saw an actual paved street with a couple walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side. I had to be going crazy. My mental state finally broke, snapped like an over-strained thread.

I stood quickly, shutting the doors. Taking a breath, I waited a moment before I opened the door only to find the road was still there.

"God, I am crazy," I muttered to myself before yelling, "Akari, get your ass over here!"

I soon heard rapid footsteps as Akari ran from, what sounded to be, the other side of the house. As she came closer I shut the doors, turning just in time to see Akari slamming through the door.

"For someone out of shape, you run pretty fast." I noted dully, making her red face flush brighter.

"Are you kidding me," She yelled, "I thought you were in trouble or that something happened to you! What the hell is so important you had to scare the shit out of me?" Her eyes held a fire I rarely saw.

"Oh nothing other than the fact that I think I found Narnia." I kept my tone neutral to measure her reaction, giving me a possible out as some joke.

Akari merely stared at me with a blank look and stated, "You're kidding, right?" The doubt was obvious in her voice, annoying me slightly.

I walked over to the wardrobe, ready to open but paused. I felt uneasy opening those doors again. Even as I opened them anyway, nothing otherwise strange happening, I couldn't shake the bad feeling. Despite the sense of danger, I couldn't deny a pull towards the strange doorway.

"Woah, how did you find this?" Akari muttered, looking through the doorway in awe. She needs to stop wearing her heart on her sleeve or she's going to get hurt again.

"I don't know. Akari, let's go check it out." I looked at her and flashed a smile. "Come on, could be fun."

Akari seemed to think a moment before shaking her head. "No way, it could be dangerous. In Narnia they had an ice queen. Who knows what they have there!"

I scoffed, "Please, I'll protect you like I always do. Now, come on." I grabbed her wrist, dragging her into the door.

Excitement buzzed through me.I tried to ignore the persistent dread at the back of my mind.

form of fencing with two-handed bamboo swords, originally developed as a safe form of sword training for samurai.

Purely self defense that turns opponents aggregation against him/her

unarmed combat derived from jujitsu and intended to train the body and mind. It involves using holds and leverage to unbalance the opponent.

inside fighting and simple rather than flashy

Hello everyone, MakaAno here! I hope you all enjoy the rewritten chapter. Honestly, I couldn't have done it without my new beta-reader, unseenstar223. An amazing woman, love working with her so much! Well, I hope you all tell us how you liked it through reviews. Please vote on the poll at the top of my profile.