That night, sleep refused to come. Not because of nightmares—but because my breath wouldn't slow down. No matter how hard I tried to close my eyes, the darkness only made everything clearer. His tattoo-covered face hovered in front of me, sharp and unmoving. Katsuo. Even his name echoed endlessly in my head, as if it had been carved into my thoughts. Every time I tried to push it away, something worse replaced it. Images flooded back—my mother's still body, partially covered, her face frozen in a way I didn't recognize. The village streets I had once run through now stained with silence. The people I knew. The people who had smiled at me just days ago. All of them gone. The memories twisted together until I couldn't tell where one ended and another began. My chest tightened. Breathing felt like work. I paced the small room, my fists clenched, replaying the day's revelations. Wing Corp. Nature breathing. Revenge. It all swirled in my mind like a storm. Then, through the quiet, I heard a knock at the door. It was soft, careful—like whoever stood outside didn't want to frighten me. "Come in," I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper. The door opened, and a calm man stepped inside. His movements were slow, controlled, as if he understood how fragile the moment was. The dim light followed him in, stretching his shadow across the floor. It was Shivansh again, his presence a steady anchor in my turmoil. "Can't sleep, I suppose?" he asked. "Umm…" I didn't know what else to say. My throat felt dry, words failing me. "I know," he continued gently. "It's hard—especially at your age. Your mind hasn't had time to learn how to let go yet. Loss like yours... it changes you. But it doesn't have to break you." I stayed silent, staring at my hands. They were calloused from farm work, but now they trembled with unspoken fury. But somehow, just hearing him speak made the tightness in my chest ease a little. He didn't rush me. He simply stood there, steady and patient, like an old tree rooted against the wind. After a moment, he placed his hand over his own chest, as if to show me something. "I don't really know proper breathing techniques," he admitted, "but I've read about something similar. It's called rhythmic breathing— a basic form that calms the spirit. Think of it as syncing your breath with the world's heartbeat." "Just follow me," he said softly. "Take a deep breath." I hesitated, then inhaled slowly. The air felt strange filling my lungs, almost unfamiliar, like breathing in the scent of rain after a drought. I held it for a moment—then let it out. Again.Slowly. The room seemed quieter, as if even the walls were listening. Inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four. He guided me through it, his voice a low hum. After a few minutes, something changed. A gentle wave of warmth passed through me, loosening the knot inside my chest. My shoulders relaxed before I even noticed it happening. The images of my village faded, not gone, but distant, like stars in the morning sky. "Feeling better?" he asked. "Y… yes, sir," I replied, surprised by how true it felt. The silence that followed wasn't heavy this time. It was calm, almost peaceful. For the first time since the attack, I felt a sliver of control. I opened my mouth to ask his name, but before I could speak, he smiled faintly, as if he already knew the question. "My name is Shivansh. And tomorrow, your training begins. We'll start with the basics—sword forms, elemental awareness. Nature breathing will come, but only when you're ready. Remember, Fogo, power without balance is just another form of destruction." As he left, I lay back down, my breath now steady. Sleep crept in, not as an enemy, but as a friend. But in the quiet, a new resolve stirred. Katsuo would pay. And I, Fogo, would be the one to make him. But the thoughts of the deaths followed me.