They moved at the same time.
Sunny struck first, his long practice blade sweeping in a diagonal arc.
Nephis sidestepped easily, her wooden sword flicking out and tapping his wrist with a sharp crack before he could recover.
He hissed through his teeth and stepped back, adjusting his grip.
Okay, maybe a different approach.
He lunged with a feint and twisted into a real slash—only to find his blade diverted mid-swing by a sudden, exacting parry.
Her counter was brutal in its simplicity: a thrust to his sternum that knocked the air from his lungs as he stumbled back two steps.
'What can I even do?'
But he didn't stop.
His next attack was more frantic, more desperate. Wide swings, erratic footwork, trying to change rhythm. Trying to catch her off-guard.
It didn't work.
Nephis didn't just block—she flowed. Her movements were like water, smooth and unhurried. Every time his blade came near, hers was already there, redirecting, nullifying, answering. She never overreached, never wasted motion. He attacked; she countered. He paused; she advanced.
Whack.
A hit slammed into his thighs, he grunted.
Thud.
Another clipped his ribs, he winced.
A third hit his temple, not hard but enough to daze.
Sunny backed off, chest heaving. Sweat dripped down his temple. Nephis hadn't even broken rhythm.
It was like this was all a routine for her.
She stepped forward, her longsword raised in high guard.
He raised his blade with both hands, gritting his teeth, trying to push through the haze of pain and mounting frustration.
He rushed forward, bringing down his blade with all his strength.
But it didn't find its mark.
She sidestepped and, in one fluid motion, brought her practice sword around in a sharp arc—his blade was knocked wide, his stance broken—and the next instant, her wooden blade was pressed against his throat.
Silence.
They stood like that for a second.
Sunny exhaled sharply and lowered his odachi.
"I admit defeat."
Nephis lowered her sword.
She said nothing, she simply stepped back and nodded.
Sunny rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck.
Every part of him ached.
But there was no resentment.
Only grim acceptance.
He sat down on the wooden floor, breathing hard.
The cold air of the dojo clung to his sweat-dampened clothes, but he didn't shiver.
He closed his eyes, and just sat there.
He could hear soft padded footsteps fade away slightly.
No remarks.
No mockery.
But then he heard:
"Your swings are too wide; you let your emotions get the better of you."
And that was it.
He could sense her shadow getting ready to prepare for the next exercise.
Honestly, he would much rather be mocked.
Indifference might've stung more than mockery ever could.
Like it wasn't even a fight worth remembering.
Then she called out to him once more.
Her voice almost sounded... awkward?
No, that couldn't be.
"What is your name?" she asked plainly.
Sunny opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. "Sunless, my name is Sunless."
She stared at him before nodding. "Your shadow seems to be laughing at you."
Sunny whipped around just fast enough to see his shadow look the other way innocently.
'Bastard, so much for keeping my aspect hidden.'
"Yea uh, don't mind him, he does that sometimes."
She stared some more before going back to what she was doing.
***
Ever since then, they had been incorporating spars into their daily training.
Well, Sunny says training, but in reality, it was more of a one-sided beatdown.
Sunny's swordsmanship improved significantly, he began seeing the movements that his shadow makes more clearly, slowly piecing parts together.
Nephs, for the most part, simply didn't talk and rarely asked questions.
Which, as far as Sunny was concerned, was great.
Still, that didn't stop her from eyeing his shadow every once in a while, as if suspicious something might come out of it.
But he wasn't bothered too much, after all, the progress was evident.
The bruises were fewer. His footing was firmer. He could actually block some of her strikes… sometimes.
Other times?
Well, other times he still ended up flat on his back, staring at the dojo ceiling and questioning every decision that led him to this moment.
Their sparring routine had become strangely predictable. Nephis never asked, never gave a signal. She'd simply pause her drills, glance at him, and Sunny would know it was time.
He'd grab his practice blade, stretch his arms, and steel himself for another round of elegant pain.
On good days, he could push her back a little, deflect a blow or two, and maybe land a counterattack.
Today was not one of those days.
Whack!
A hit to the ribs.
Thud!
A sweep to the ankle.
Tap!
A gentle reminder to guard his temple.
Sunny was sprawled on the floor, coughing out what little wind remained in his lungs.
He laid on the mat like a broken doll.
Nephs noted a couple things he did wrong; this time it was his footwork.
She turned and returned to her corner, not bothering to offer him a hand up. She never did. In fact, he was sure that if he ever asked, she'd only stare at him in silence until he got up himself or died of shame.
'I'm starting to wonder if she may be just awkward with speech,' pondered Sunny.
Surely not?
Surely, she was just acting like a lofty legacy, choosing not to interact with anyone.
After all, this was Nephis of the Immortal Flame Clan.
The one who had gotten a True Name.
Sunny wondered who had it worst in the First Nightmare.
He tightened his grip on the wooden odachi and gave his shadow a sidelong glance.
The little bastard gave him a lazy thumbs-up.
"Invaluable helper, my ass," he muttered.
But it was about time he began to get ready.
It was time for a small home visit.