"Shell"

Yangyang's hair ribbon and hat. The ribbon was a parting blessing from her mother; the hat, a gift from her friends after she became an <te href=850139>Outrider</te>. Morning after morning, Yangyang ties the one and dons the other before the mirror. It is a small ritual, a moment to gather her heart before she meets the world, to ensure she has never strayed from her earliest vow. After her Resonance Ability changed, Yangyang thought long and hard before sealing these two lifelong "symbols" away in her wardrobe. What they meant was long since seared into her heart, and a fledgling that has cracked free of its shell no longer needs it to hold its shape. She wants now to stride boldly forward, to open her wings to the sky. Her wishes have already drifted on the wind to every corner of the world, and so she means to anchor a new self, an "adult" who can carry others' burdens, an azure-plumed bird winging in the high heavens, heralding the dawn.

Records of Each Other

The letters Yangyang has kept from {Male=him;Female=her}. She has treasured every one of them, and by now they would stack into quite a little mountain. Each letter is a journey of its own, a story they could not share in person, but chose to share in ink. She holds these memories close. Whenever her fingertips trace the written lines—places her own feet have never touched—the image of {Male=him;Female=her} roving these lands takes shape in her mind, clear and vivid.

The Voice of the World

A coming-of-age gift from Yangyang's mother, entrusted to Suisui for delivery years after Yangyang left home. The sound of the tides seems sealed within. <i>"Like moths to a flame, all who hear the ■■ are bound to walk the road of ■■■■. To the last Votary of the Voice in this world: may this journey of yours—unhoped-for and fated to fail—find some small measure of meaning through the presence of ■■■."</i>

A Record of Failure

Three days had passed since she told her mother of her ambition. That evening, an extra pair of chopsticks sat at the family's table. "I hear your child wants to join the military? Which one is it?" Over after-dinner talk, the guest sipped her tea and put the question to her parents. "Mm... clear eyes, a pure heart. The sort who can endure hardship." The guest studied that still-childish face and smiled. "Seems you have some grounding already. Where did you learn it? A kwoon? They teach no true craft there. If you want to take the field against an enemy, what they teach is not enough." "Come, show me what you've learned so far." The guest rose and stepped down into the courtyard. "I can't enjoy your mother's cooking for free." "All right." With her parents' nod, she drew out the wooden sword she used for daily practice, came before the guest, and took her stance. Who the guest was, she didn't know, only that she was a friend of her parents. But sharp as she was, Yangyang understood why the woman had come to dinner that night, and why she'd offered to test her. Her parents stood behind her wish, but they would have her see, too, how many trials still lay between her and its fulfillment. She threw herself at her first trial, like a fledgling beating its wings for the first time, reaching for the open sky. ... "Good spirit. A shame your talent is ordinary, nothing like those one-in-ten-thousand prodigies. On the path of the martial arts, you could give your whole life and still never reach the end." The instant she sank to the ground, she felt as though she'd returned to her very first day at the kwoon. Knowing nothing. Lost and adrift. "Your mother's spoken to me of your other gifts. Take up her craft instead, and I have no doubt you would surpass her in no time." The guest picked up the wooden sword she'd dropped. "Even so, do you still want to keep on?" She nodded, reached out, and gripped the hilt held out to her. ... After that, every dozen days or so the guest would call at Yangyang's home, and never left without offering Yangyang a pointer or two, now of swordplay, now of strategy. She wouldn't let Yangyang call her "Master," insisting she was only a guest cadging meals, driven by some strange shim to tutor a friend's child. "If I may ask... when will I know that I'm ready?" "Hmm... let's do it this way." The next morning, a wooden post stood in Yangyang's yard. Black-gray through and through, its surface hard as iron. Even a real blade would struggle to leave a mark. The guest took up Yangyang's wooden sword and swung it lightly. A fierce gust passed, and the blade had bitten three inches deep. She pointed to the deep gash. "When you can do the same without your Resonance Ability, you'll be ready." ... The seasons fled. Two years went by. The girl's face had shed its childhood softness, and the post bore cuts beyond counting, deep and shallow alike. She held her breath and squared her stance. The flash of the blade was like wind, lifting a carpet of leaves from the ground. "..." The stroke, freighted with two years of perseverance, sank scarcely a tenth of an inch past the surface. Today was the day she'd agreed with her parents to leave home for Jinzhou. She hadn't met the mark her "Master" had set before setting out, but set out she did. She bowed deeply to the post and left the wooden sword behind in the courtyard. After farewells to her parents and sister, she walked past Mingting's walls. Just as she was about to pass the first checkpoint, she caught sight of a figure in the distance. "Forgive, Master. I failed." "And what if I told you that you might never do it, not in a lifetime of trying?" "Then I think... I'd grieve a little while." "But that would not stop you, would it?" "No." "Good." The "Master" patted her head and turned away toward the city. "Know that this world holds things you'll never be able to do, and then..." "...walk on, all the way."