A/N: Hello, fellow readers. I added more information about Carrie's training to the story. That said, sit back, relax, grab some snacks, and happy reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Killer Instinct or Carrie franchises. They belong to their respective owners.

The rain was relentless, cascading from the sky in thick sheets. It pounded against the land, leaving puddles on the ground. Trails became small, muddy rivers that flowed down the hillside. While trees and plants enjoyed their shower, animals sought shelter from the stormy weather. Everyone in the Gasa village remained inside as the summer monsoon continued its assault.

In the candle-lit lodge room, Carrie peered at a blank diary page. Jago received two journals from the same tourist during their last hot springs trip. The downpour pounded the roof with a thousand drums.

Sighing, she lifted her pen and wrote her recent entry.

Dear God:

It is now day ten since I started training with Jago and Pemba. I will not lie, Lord: the first few days were hell.

Whenever I complained or became frustrated, they corrected me. Pemba hits my head, not painful, but enough to teach me. Jago only needed one disapproving stare. Even now, everything appears blurred.

Pemba's language training was tedious. Jago was not kidding when he said learning Nepali was difficult.

Carrie recalled a sunny day when she struggled to repeat Pemba's words. Although patient, Pemba grew frustrated, so Jago offered to assist. He worked with Carrie to dissect the phrases and reassemble them.

I'm doing well, but I still have a lot to accomplish. It was also the same when Jago taught me martial arts. We once stood near a tall tree, and he showed me how to punch.

When he hit the trunk, bark flew. I stepped back, expecting the tree to fall, but it didn't.

It seemed easy until I tried it.

Carrie faced the tree Jago used to show a basic punch. The monk remained on the sidelines, observing. After taking a stance, she delivered a decent strike, but nothing happened.

Jago crossed his arms. "Try again, but harder, and don't hold back. Also, don't forget your breathing."

Carrie adjusted her posture. She took a deep breath as her muscles relaxed. Once again, she struck the tree. The results remained the same with an added effect. Carrie screamed as she pulled her hand away. A burning sensation flared around her red knuckles.

"Are you alright?" Jago asked.

"No." Carrie shook her hand to relieve the pain, but it worsened from that action. "You make it so easy."

"Nothing is easy. Martial arts is a journey of self-discovery and growth that leads to a higher level of physical and mental well-being. While living at the Tiger Shrine, I practiced my punches and strikes on a boulder in the courtyard.

"My hands hardened enough to numb the pain after many cracked knuckles, minor cuts, and hairline fractures."

"How long did it take?" Carrie asked.

"About fifteen years," Jago said.

"Oh God, I don't think I can handle that."

"Not if you put your mind to it." Jago motioned for the girl to offer him her hand. "When we started training, you wanted to change and be normal, right? So, another question: are you changing for society or yourself?"

Carrie paused at the question. From her old hometown, she tried everything to prove she wasn't like her mother, but it was all in vain.

Jago examined the girl's injured hand, noting her silence. "It's okay to improve yourself, but it's never enough if you do it for others."

Carrie slowed her writing as Jago's words filled her mind. She stared at her healed hand, marveling at how it had transformed from a source of pain to a symbol of resilience. Still, the girl couldn't shake off the sadness lingering in her heart. She picked up her pen and resumed writing.

However, Lord, of all my training, nothing was more difficult than meditation. Like martial arts, I assumed it would be easy. After all, you sit down, close your eyes, and reflect. Each time I try to center myself, the past haunts me.

My demons, regrets, and mistakes pull me back. In my quest for inner peace, I'm struggling to stay present. Still, I'm determined to find the strength and courage to take the next step in my healing journey. Though a slow process, I am learning to forgive myself and accept the past to embrace the future.

After finishing her diary with a poem, Carrie received a knock at the door. "Come in."

Pemba poked her head inside. "It's time for language training."

"Okay." The girl closed her journal and tucked it under her pillow. Afterward, she followed the shapeshifter to the living room. They sat beside the fireplace, which provided warmth.

In the dancing flames, the logs crackled and popped.

For thirty minutes, Carrie and Pemba continued their language training.

Carrie repeats a phrase in Nepali whenever Pemba says it, although she still makes mistakes.

"I'm impressed with your Nepali skills. At your pace, you'll master the language in no time," Pemba said via mind link.

Heat flooded Carrie's cheeks. "Well, I'm a good learner. Also, if Jago had not broken down the words like that, I would've been lost. Where is he?"

"He mentioned practicing with his sword."

"In a storm like this?"

"He'll be fine. You know how Jago is. He enjoys practicing in harsh weather conditions because it strengthens him. He's been doing this for years."

Carrie sighed, recalling the monk's lightning story. "I… I guess. Still, I can't help but worry."

"Understandable," Pemba said. "Say, we can spy on him if we don't interfere with his training. You might learn a thing or two from him."

They arose and headed outside. While standing under a makeshift canopy, the women found Jago in his usual spot for morning prayers.

With his back facing the women, Jago sat cross-legged in meditation. The monsoon rain soaked him, but he remained still, not allowing the weather to distract him. After opening his eyes, Jago grabbed his sword, which lay before him.

Infusing the blade with his ki, he gave it a flaming appearance.

Unaware of his audience, he swung his weapon.

Carrie gazed with intrigue. The blade sliced through the droplets with each swing, leaving a fiery trail. Jago appeared to be in a trance, his movements fluid and graceful. The way the monk wielded the sword was like an extension of himself.

She stared at her hands, thinking about her powers. I understand now.

The following day, the rain stopped but remained cloudy. Given the soggy ground outside, Jago conducted his morning prayer inside his room.

About halfway, his ears caught faint, labored grunts. Following the sound, the monk stepped out, his curiosity piqued.

Near the edge of the woods, he found Carrie hitting a tree.

Her fists remained clenched, her knuckles bruised and bloody from her efforts. Sweat poured from her forehead as she panted.

Once she caught her breath, Carrie shifted to a combat position, steadying her nerves.

With her telekinetic energy gathered in her fist, she punched with all her might.

Pieces of bark scattered in every direction as a crack formed in its trunk, but the tree remained standing. Carrie moved back, admiring her work.

"Carrie?" the monk called.

Startled, the girl jumped back. "Jago. How long have you been there?"

"About five to ten minutes. Let me see your hands." Once Carrie showed him her hands, Jago checked them. "They don't look terrible. You'll be alright. Your hands should heal once I summon the Buddha of Medicine. You found the tree's weak spot without destroying it."

"It was your sword practice yesterday that inspired me."

"Oh? How so?"

"It was the way you moved when swinging your sword. Your focus was so intense that you were in a trance. It made me think about my powers and how to blend with them."

"I see. Do you still view your abilities as a curse?"

"A piece of me still does, but I'm learning to accept them."

"Take it one step at a time," Jago said. A loud, thunderous rumble echoed in the background. They glanced at the dark clouds, and the wind picked up. "We're in for another round. Let's get inside before the rain starts."