7th of July, clear. It had been a bright, perfect day. The kind of day where the sky itself seemed to sing, the clouds like soft strokes of brush upon the heavens. The warmth of the sun soaked through the walls, casting shadows of gentle gold across the courtyard where she stood. On this day, her birthday, Ch'en felt the pulse of excitement within her chest—her fingers itching for the hilt of her blade.
She had trained relentlessly for this, the moment when Wei Yenwu would acknowledge her. She had dreamed of his steady gaze, his approval, the faintest glimmer of pride in his eyes as she performed her unsheathing technique, a movement so swift it seemed to blur the air itself. But as the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of lavender and fire, she found no trace of him anywhere. Three days passed in waiting, in pacing beneath the same shadows that had once calmed her. After those days of silence, she waited no longer. Something inside her hardened—solidified, like steel being tempered in a forge. And from that moment on, she knew better than to hope for recognition from him again.
13th of May, cloudy. The skies hung low, pregnant with the promise of rain, though none fell. It was on this day she took Chi Xiao and drove it into the thirty-year-old tree that stood in the center of the courtyard—a towering sentinel of time and tradition. With one decisive strike, she brought the ancient wood crashing down, smashing the roof of the pavilion with a loud, resounding thud that echoed through the grounds.
She waited, her heart pounding, half-expecting Wei to appear, to see what she had done. She imagined the weight of his gaze, the sharpness of his reprimand. But instead, a servant arrived the next day, planting a new tree in the same spot without a word. It was then that she let go of her last hope for his acknowledgment, her heart filling with the weight of unspoken disappointment.
1st of January, heavy rain. The New Year's rain fell like daggers from the sky, sharp and relentless. The streets of Lungmen were slick with water, reflecting the chaos that brewed in the slums. She had been on her way to pay respects, her thoughts lost in the sound of her boots splashing through the puddles, when she saw it—a group of thugs tormenting a helpless family, their cruelty as cold as the storm itself.
Without thinking, she struck. Her fury was swift and merciless. She moved like lightning through the rain, cutting down fifteen of them before they even knew what had hit them. Blood mixed with water on the cobblestones, turning the ground slick and red. In that moment, with death breathing down her neck, she fled into the night, her sword sheathed but her heart burning with the fury of battle.
Wei Yenwu appeared at the edge of the scene, his silhouette blurred by the downpour. He saw the sword marks, saw the chaos she had left in her wake, and gave her a single, withering look before turning and leaving without a word. She no longer remembered why she had struck out that night, what had ignited the flame of her anger. But the disappointment in his eyes—that, she would never forget.
25th of December, clear. The air was crisp and cold, the sky a deep, endless blue. She had been walking home from the Royal Guard Academy, her mind filled with the thrill of her training. She felt invincible, as though no force in the world could stand against her. Hr blade gleamed in the sunlight, and with each step, her confidence grew.
As she passed through a narrow alley, she saw it—a robbery in progress, the thief's knife glinting as he threatened a shopkeeper. Without hesitation, she struck. Her movements were bold and grand, her strikes precise, sparing the criminal only as much as was necessary. In that moment, she believed that she could cut through all the injustices of the world with her blade, that her strength was enough to right every wrong.
30th of July, cloudy. She had been unconscious for five days after a battle that had pushed her to the very brink of her abilities. The fugitive she had hunted was infamous, a shadow that Lungmen itself feared to confront. And yet, with her final burst of strength, she had released Shadowless, a technique that left her sword faster than thought and sharper than the night itself, cleaving through the fugitive's defenses and ending the battle with a flurry of strikes.
When she awoke, Chi Xiao lay beside her bed, its hilt gleaming faintly in the dim light of the room. But Wei Yenwu had not visited her, not once during her recovery. The absence gnawed at her, but she pushed the feeling away, burying it deep beneath the surface, where it festered quietly.
13th of August, overcast. The air was thick with tension as she pursued an Infected criminal through the underbelly of Lungmen. She was eager, almost too eager, to unsheathe Chi Xiao, the sword that had become an extension of her will. But as she tried to draw the blade, it refused to move, as if locked in place by some unseen force.
In the moment of mortal danger, when her life hung in the balance, inspiration struck. Chi Xiao came free with a sudden, fluid motion, and with it, she cleaved through half of the subterranean garage in a single stroke, the power of the blade undeniable. She sought Wei Yenwu afterward, desperate to understand why the sword had hesitated and then released. But once again, he did not meet her. His silence was her answer, and it left a void in her chest that she could not fill.
30th of September, clear. Chi Xiao was unsheathed for the second time, its blade carving through steel as though it were air, opening the door to a treasury and saving the hostages within. It was then that she began to understand—the sword was a blade of will, a reflection of her own determination. It would only act when her spirit was aligned with its purpose. She thought she had always been strong enough, fast enough, but in truth, she had always done too little. She needed to be faster, mightier, unyielding in her resolve.
7th of July, cloudy. A decade had passed since that first, clear July day when she had waited for Wei Yenwu's acknowledgment. Now, on her birthday, he asked to see her swordplay for the first time. She had trained relentlessly for this moment, condensing everything she had learned into a single, incomplete technique—Cloudsplitter. It was her final answer, her ultimate test. She performed the technique with all the precision and grace she could muster, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for his response.
But once again, Wei Yenwu did not comment.
Each step the Wayward Passenger took sent tremors through the already-battered city, and each swing of its violet blades sliced through the very concept of form and matter. Each movement seemed to sever not only flesh but the reality around it, leaving distorted fragments of the world hanging in place like broken mirrors.
Zwillingstürme was now a jagged battlefield, with buildings diced mid-collapse, roads sheared into spirals, and bodies—innocent people—reduced to ribbons by the monstrous force. The very air was choked with black mist, heavy and viscous, each breath a struggle as the city was torn apart.
Amiya, ever the quick thinker, pushed the Doctor aside just in time. Her sharp cry broke through the chaos. "Doctor, get down!" But even as she saved him, the air warped, and the laws of physics melted like an ice cube under the summer sun. The Wayward Passenger's presence alone was enough to send space into a frenzy. The next moment, Amiya and Ch'en were swallowed by a tear, pulled into a warped plane of reality where existence itself seemed to rebel against comprehension.
They found themselves in what appeared to be a train carriage, though calling it that felt reductive. This was a twisted shadow of reality, as if someone had pulled the concept of a train through the maw of a nightmare. Thin membranes of flesh and translucent tendrils hung like grotesque decorations over the walls. The seats were warped, elongated in some places, and compressed in others, while sickly purple veins throbbed underfoot. Gravity shifted in unpredictable patterns, sending objects and blood droplets spiraling erratically. The air itself seemed heavier, sluggish in one moment and accelerating uncontrollably in the next. Each breath was a struggle, as though the world couldn't decide which rules to follow.
"The shortest path is no longer straight," Amiya whispered, clutching her head as the dimensional warp wreaked havoc on her perception. Her thoughts seemed to lag, words slurring in her mind before catching up with her speech. The distance between two points fluctuated—steps stretched and compressed, time itself losing coherence. Gravity would vanish in one step, only to crush them in the next. Friction dissolved at random, turning what should have been stable footing into unpredictable slips.
Then, with a shimmer of fractured light, the Wayward Passenger stepped through one of its tears. The grotesque creature, whose torso was a mockery of a humanoid figure, brandished its glowing, violet energy blades. Each movement it made seemed to ripple through the already destabilized world, its very presence causing the space around it to twist and writhe in agony. Ch'en barely had time to raise her swords in defense before the abnormality descended upon them.
The Wayward Passenger's attack came like a torrent, stabbing and slashing with the precision of something that had transcended mere skill. It was as if space itself conspired against them. Amiya felt the energy blade pierce her side, hot, white pain flooding her mind. Ch'en, equally overwhelmed, deflected one blow only for another to carve into her arm, sending her second sword tumbling from her grasp.
Ch'en's arms trembled, the weight of Chi Xiao nearly unbearable as the pain from her wounds throbbed with every heartbeat. Blood dripped from her left arm, the blade that once belonged there now lost on the ground somewhere. But her right hand still gripped Chi Xiao with a tenacity that belied the agony wracking her body.
Her mind raced, replaying everything she had learned from a lifetime of training, a thousand drills, and countless battles. But none of those prepared her for this—fighting an enemy that was not bound by the rules of the world. Every step felt unpredictable, like trying to walk on shifting sands. The Wayward Passenger moved as if reality itself bent to its will, phasing in and out of existence, its glowing violet blades cutting through the fabric of space with brutal ease.
No more mistakes. No more hesitation. Ch'en gritted her teeth and dug her feet into the ground, her body tensing for the next onslaught. The creature blinked out of sight, its form warping through a gap in space before reappearing behind her. She spun on instinct, barely catching the glint of its blade in time to raise Chi Xiao.
A clash of metal against energy, the sound ringing out with an unnatural, echoing screech. Ch'en was thrown back by the sheer force of the impact, her feet skidding across the unstable ground. Gravity shifted again, pulling her downward, her body suddenly heavy, as though the train itself was trying to drag her into the depths.
The Passenger didn't wait. It lunged forward, cutting through the air with one of its dimension-rending blades. Ch'en deflected, but the power behind the attack sent a shockwave through her entire body.
The Wayward Passenger twisted its form, disappearing into a swirl of violet light. Ch'en barely had time to react before it emerged from a tear above her, bringing its blade down in an arc meant to cleave her in two. She sidestepped, the force of the blow splitting the ground where she had just stood, chunks of the carriage splintering upward in a spray of debris.
Then, there. A flicker in the air, the faintest shimmer of violet energy. Ch'en's instincts took over. She dashed forward, her movements blurring as she tapped into the last reserves of her strength.
The Passenger emerged, its glowing blades raised to meet her. But this time, Ch'en was ready. She deflected the first strike, Chi Xiao ringing out like a bell as it met the Abnormality's weapon. Sparks flew as the two clashed, the sheer force behind each attack sending shockwaves through the warped space. Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing down to just the two of them—a dance of life and death, each move bringing them closer to the end.
Ch'en's body screamed in protest, her muscles tearing under the strain, but she pushed through the pain. She gripped Chi Xiao tighter, feeling the familiar weight of the blade grounding her to reality. Her mind began to empty, her breathing slowing, her focus narrowing. The world faded away, and all that remained was the Passenger, her sword, and the thin thread of instinct connecting her to the next attack. The Wayward Passenger reared back, its violet blade poised for a killing blow. But Ch'en was faster.
With a roar, she surged forward, Chi Xiao gleaming in her hand. She parried the incoming strike, her blade sliding along the Abnormality's weapon with a screech of metal on energy. And then, in a single fluid motion, she brought Chi Xiao down in a devastating arc. With a single, fluid slash, Chi Xiao cleaved through the Abnormality's arm, severing one of its violet blades.
The creature recoiled, its form flickering, destabilising as the dimensional energy bled out from its severed weapon. But Ch'en wasn't done.
Ignoring the searing pain in her left arm, she reached out and grabbed the severed blade with her injured hand, her fingers slick with blood but refusing to let go. The jagged, violet energy crackled against her skin, burning her fingers, but she gripped it tightly, wielding the blade as if it were her own.
She felt nothing. No fear. No hesitation. Only the drive to finish this fight.
With both blades in hand, she moved—faster than the eye could follow. Her body blurred into motion, ten rapid slashes in the blink of an eye, each one faster than the last. The force behind her strikes was overwhelming, leaving no shadows, no time for the monster to react.
Each slash cut deep, tearing through the Wayward Passenger's grotesque body, severing muscle and tendon, leaving trails of violet energy in their wake. The creature screeched, writhing in pain, but Ch'en did not stop.
The final blow tore through the Passenger's core, splitting it wide open. With one final, tortured wail, the abomination began to collapse in on itself, its body disintegrating into the void from which it had come.
Ch'en fell to her knees, both of her arms trembling, muscles torn from the sheer force of her attack. Blood dripped from her wounds, pooling beneath her in a scarlet puddle. Her left arm hung limp at her side. The pain was overwhelming, but she forced herself to stay conscious, to remain upright.
A faint tremor ran through the ground beneath them.
In the distance, the sound of space tearing open echoed once more.