"You hold it like you're afraid it's going to bite you."

The voice was calm, steady, cutting through the crisp autumn air of Zhou Ling International's hidden training courtyard.

I flinched, my fingers tightening on the worn wood of my practice sword. I was ten years old, and I was failing.

I looked over to see a kimono-clad Magical Girl, lazily sitting on top of a tree with one knee bent, watching me with an unnervingly intense gaze as she rested her hands behind her head. Her green hair was short and loose around her neck, and her eyes, a shade of amber that seemed to glow in the dappled sunlight.

I knew who she was. Everyone did.

Uriko-hime one of the most promising prospects at the academy. B-Rank at ten years of age. A-Rank at twelve.

Even with the new echolocation technique I'd been working on, I hadn't even noticed she was there.

"I'm not," I retorted, my voice a little too high, a little too defensive. "I'm just... getting used to it."

She was a few years older than me, but she carried herself with an authority that made her seem ancient. She was already a veteran, a prodigy, a legend in the making. And I was... me. An orphan sponsored by family friends too big for our breeches, a girl with a power I was still learning to control, a voice I was still learning to trust.

She jumped from the tree, landing with a soft rustle of leaves that was too quiet for someone her size.

"Really?" she asked, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Because from up there, it looks like you're holding a dead fish." She gestured to my stance. "Your grip is all wrong. Your feet are too close together. You're telegraphing your every move. You're a song with no rhythm, a melody with no harmony."

I bristled, my cheeks flushing with heat.

Uriko stepped over, stroking her chin. "Why did you take up this course? It seems like you are a talented enough archer." she said, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Because," I said, my voice small. "I... have my own reasons."

Uriko didn't say anything for a moment. She just looked at me, her amber eyes unreadable. Then, she let out a soft sigh.

"Your talent doesn't lie here," she said, gesturing to the sword in my hand. "This isn't your strength. Your power lies in your voice, your resonance. You can't control your magic without it. You'll never be a Magical Girl this way."

"But I need to learn how to fight," I insisted, my voice cracking with desperation. "I need to be able to protect people. Like my parents. My sponsors. My friends. I... I can't just stand by and sing and sling arrows. I want to be able to fight up close if I have to. I don't want to be... vulnerable."

But who was I to question her assessment?

Uriko was the Princess of Blades. Her skills were legendary already.

Uriko studied my face, her expression unreadable. She seemed to be considering my words, weighing them against some internal metric I couldn't begin to fathom.

Then I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Pity? Understanding?

"Then you need to find a new way to fight," she said. "A way that works for you. A way that lets you be you. But if you insist..."

She reached out, her fingers gently adjusting my grip on the sword, moving my hand a fraction of an inch, straightening my wrist.

"Here," she said, her voice a soft, guiding whisper. "Relax. Don't try to force it. Let the sword be an extension of your arm, an extension of your will. It's not a weapon. It's a tool. And you, little songbird, are a virtuoso. Treat it as another instrument."

I looked up at her, my eyes wide. I hadn't expected that. I hadn't expected her to be so... kind. So... understanding.

"Princess Uriko, I..." I started, but she held up a hand, silencing me.

"Uriko," she corrected, a small, tired smile on her face. "Just Uriko is fine. Do not misunderstand me, though. Your personality isn't made for swordsmanship. You're too much of a softie. But you need to learn how to protect yourself. We have to do what we can. I guess that's one thing we have in common."

Uriko reached out and gently flicked my forehead with a flash of green sparks.

I winced, rubbing the spot she'd flicked. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Because you're being too hard on yourself," she said, her voice soft. "We're still both kids. It's okay to be scared."

She paused, her eyes drifting towards the horizon, towards the city that represented the world unified for the sake of survival and mutual destruction, her expression distant.

"We all are here," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Then, she turned back to me, a small, playful smirk on her face.

"Now, let's try that again," she said. "And this time, try not to look like you're about to cry."

I just stared at her, my mind reeling. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. So I just nodded, a small, hesitant movement.

"Um... Okay."

And for the rest of the afternoon, she stayed with me, guiding me, correcting me, pushing me. She was patient, but firm. And for the first time since I'd arrived at the Academy, I felt like I was learning something that might actually help me. Something that might actually make a difference.

Time blurred. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the courtyard. And I continued to practice. To a layperson, I would've looked agile, graceful, even. But I was compensating with my enhanced physical abilities and mana control; I was still fighting a losing battle with a fundamental part of myself. The sword still felt like a foreign object in my hand.

Uriko watched me, a curious expression on her face.

"Fascinating..." Uriko suddenly spoke up.

"What's up?" I asked, panting, sweat dripping down my face. I'd been at this for hours.

"Your technique is atrocious," she said, and I felt a sting of embarrassment. And then she continued, her voice filled with a genuine, analytical curiosity. "Your form is a mess. Your footwork is clumsy. You hesitate at the exact moment you should commit."

I flushed, lowering the wooden sword.

"But compared to what I saw during the group session with Little Red Riding Hood a few days ago, you are demonstrating a degree of diligence that is almost unnerving," she said, her eyes narrowed in thought.

"I don't understand."

"Your magic. It's like a wellspring. An ocean. You can shape it into anything you want, with a finesse that even the Seimei clan's masters would envy. You could probably create a blade of pure sound and slice a falling leaf in half from a hundred paces away without even trying. You have more raw talent in your little finger than most of us have in our entire bodies."

She furrowed her brow.

"What are you trying to prove?"

The question caught me off guard.

"I... I'm not trying to prove anything," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her eyes boring into mine. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trying to prove you can be something you're not. You're a prodigy, Sonatina. People are already starting to talk. They say you're a natural. That you don't have to try because everything comes so easily to you. That you're lazy and coasting on your talent."

I winced. I'd heard the whispers. The snide comments. The resentful glares. They stung, more than I cared to admit.

She paused, her gaze softening.

"But I've see you here. Every day this week. Pushing yourself. Struggling. Fighting. This isn't easy for you. This sword... this isn't your strength. I see a girl who's trying her damnedest to be something she's not. I see a girl who's fighting against her own nature, because she thinks it's not enough. And I'd like to understand why."

I looked down at the sword in my hand, the wood smooth and familiar now, but still a dead weight.

"I... I. Well," I said, the words a quiet admission of my own confusion. "People... they say it's easy. My magic. My resonance. They say it just... happens for me. And they're right. I sing, and the world... it listens. It feels like breathing. But this..." I gestured with the sword. "Martial arts. Swordplay. This feels real. It feels earned. The sweat, the strain, the blisters... it feels honest. My magic... it doesn't. It feels like a cheat. Like a gift I didn't deserve."

Uriko listened, her amber eyes unreadable.

"Because I'm scared," I finally confessed, the words a raw, painful whisper. "My parents... they disappeared one day. There was no warning. No fight. Just... gone. Like they were erased. I would like to know what happened to them. If I find them, what do I do? Sing at whatever monster that took them from me? No. I want to be able to do something. I want to be able to fight. I don't want to be helpless."

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Uriko studied my face, her expression unreadable.

"I see," she said, her voice soft. "That's... a heavy burden for someone so young to carry."

"You're one to talk. You're what, thirteen? And you talk like an old woman!" I retorted, a hint of my usual defensiveness creeping back into my voice.

She chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "I don't know. It just comes out when I'm 'Princess Uriko' I guess."

And then, she did something that surprised me. She reached out, her fingers gently closing over mine, guiding the sword from my hand. She took it, and for a moment, she just held it.

"You know, I have a younger brother," she said, her voice quiet. "He's... he's a lot like you. Sensitive. Artistic. He loves to paint. He could spend hours just mixing colors, trying to find the perfect shade of blue for a sky that doesn't exist."

She looked at me, a flicker of something I couldn't quite name in her eyes.

"He hates training. Hates fighting. But he does it. Because he has to. Because this world... it doesn't care if you're a painter or a poet. It will devour you if you let it. And unlike us, he doesn't have the powers of a Magical Girl. He's just a boy. He's vulnerable."

Her grip tightened on the training sword, her knuckles white.

"My power comes with a price. A duty. A responsibility. And I will not let my family, my people, my world, down. Not again."

She looked away, her gaze fixed on some distant point, her expression distant.

"The burden of an heir," she continued. "And I assume your sponsors are an old clan as well?"

I sighed. "Yeah. Um. It's... the Void Clan. The Kong Family is sponsoring me."

"The Void Clan..." Uriko said, the name a soft whisper on her lips. "One of the Five Founding Families of the Wudang Sect. A lineage that stretches back to the Zhou Dynasty. An ancient and noble house. To take a foreigner as a sponsored student... even an orphan... is a first that I've heard. I understand their heir is of mixed blood, but still. It's an honor, you know. Even if they treat you like a stray cat."

"You know a lot about me," I said, a little uneasily.

"I make it my business to know," she replied, her voice flat. "Especially when someone like you shows up. Someone with your kind of power."

She paused, her gaze softening.

"Understand, Sonatina. You have a gift. A rare and precious gift. Don't waste it trying to be something you're not. You don't need a sword to be strong. You just need to find your own way to fight."

She reached out, her fingers gently tapping my chest, right over my heart.

"Your strength is here. In here. In your voice. In your soul. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even yourself."

"I.."

She smiled at me gently, tapping the sword against her palm.

"What made you choose the name Sonatina?" Uriko suddenly asked, her voice a soft, curious melody. "It's a... it's an interesting choice. For a Magical Girl."

I blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. "Oh. Um. It's a musical term. A short, simple sonata. It's... it's what my mother used to call me. She was a musician. A violinist."

My voice cracked on the last word.

Uriko's gaze softened, a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

"I see," she said, her voice gentle. "That's... a lovely name. A fitting name."

She looked away, her gaze fixed on the darkening sky.

"But overly humble if your power is what they say it is. It lacks presence. You should work on that," she said, her voice a quiet murmur. "You are not just a little song."

We stood in silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between us.

"I think," she started, then stopped, considering her words. "I think we're done for today. You're exhausted. And you've earned a break."

She looked at me, a small, tired smile on her face.

"Come on," she said, gesturing towards a small, grassy hill overlooking the training grounds. "Let's get some air."

I followed her up the hill, my muscles aching, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. We sat down on the cool grass, the city lights shimmering in the distance.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

She pointed over the hills, toward the darkening sky. I'd always found the night sky in Zhou Ling City to be breathtakingly beautiful.

The mana fields that permeated the city, a necessary defense against incursions had a peculiar side effect: it absorbed the city's light pollution. It was inconsistent, but the International Academy's courtyards were located in a part of the city where the fields were particularly strong.

So the stars were visible. Not just a few scattered points of light, but a dizzying, breathtaking tapestry of constellations in the sky.

"If you did not awaken as a Magical Girl, what would you have wanted to be?" she asked, her voice a soft, distant whisper. It felt so personal, and I didn't know why she was asking me this.

"I... I don't know," I said, my voice barely audible. "I never really thought about it. My parents were gone before I could even think about that."

"Is that so?" she mused, her eyes fixed on the stars.

The seconds ticked by in a comfortable silence.

"I think... I think I would've wanted to be a musician," I finally said, the words a quiet confession. "Like my mother. I think... I think that would've made her happy."

Uriko didn't say anything. She just listened, her presence a comforting, steady weight beside me.

"Auntie... my adopted mother told me that a sonatina is also a story. A little story told in music. I... I want to tell my stories."

"Stories can sooth, Sonatina. They can't bring back the dead. But they can bring some peace to the living," she said, her voice a quiet murmur.

We sat in silence for a long time, just watching the stars.

"Look," she said, her voice a soft whisper. "The constellation Lyra."

I followed her gaze, my eyes tracing the unfamiliar pattern of stars she pointed at.

"The Lyre. A symbol of music, of poetry, of stories. A fitting constellation for a girl named Sonatina, don't you think?" she said, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

"I... I think so," I said, a small, shy smile of my own.

"You know," she said, her voice a soft, distant murmur. "My brother... He sees the world in a way I can't. He sees the beauty in the decay, the light in the darkness. He sees things that I, with all my power, with all my training, can't see."

She looked at me, her amber eyes filled with a strange, searching light.

"I think you see things like that too, Sonatina. I think you see the world in a way that most people can't. And that's a gift. A rare and precious gift."

She paused, her gaze turning back to the stars.

"Don't ever lose that."

"You talk about your brother a lot," I said, my voice quiet. "What's his name?"

"Momotarou," she said, a small, fond smile on her face. "He's... he's a good kid. A little too soft for his own good, sometimes. But he's got a good heart."

"He sounds... nice," I said, a little enviously. "I... I wish I had a sibling."

Uriko suddenly giggled, causing me to stare at her, perplexed. It was honestly a little strange how her entire tone of voice and demeanor changed when the conversation shifted to family.

"He's a brat. But he's my brat," she said, a genuine, warm smile on her face. "I'd burn the world for him. And I think he'd do the same for me. He is the reason I'm going to cut down the heavens if I have to. I'd always do that for family."

The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken meaning.

"What about you, Uriko. If you didn't have the responsibilities we have, what would you do?" I asked, my voice quiet under the shimmering stars.

Her smile didn't fade, but it changed. The armor around her name, her duty, seemed to loosen just a little. "I'd open a little bakery."

I blinked. "A... bakery?"

"Yeah." She leaned back on her elbows, the picture of a normal girl, not a scion of an ancient house. "But with... maybe board games imported from Earth too. A cafe. Where my brother could paint on the walls. Where the only thing you have to fight for is the last piece of mochi." She chuckled, a real, unguarded sound. "My mother would call it a frivolous waste of my potential. My father would probably just sigh and disown me, but secretly fund it anyway through spread-out 'donations' that would never be traced back to him. But... that's what I'd want. A quiet corner where the world can't touch us."

The image was so vivid, so warm, it made my chest ache. A little bakery, smelling of yeast and sugar, filled with sunlight and the sound of dice on wooden tables. It felt more impossible, more magical, than any of the powers we wielded.

"And at night, I'd go back to my little rascal of a tomcat Kuromaru. My husband would be a kind-hearted salaryman and retired defense force engineer who works too hard and forgets his anniversary. We'd have a little girl who takes after her aunt Sonatina," she said, nudging me playfully with her elbow. "And a little boy who takes after his uncle. And we'd just... live. Is that so much to ask?"

She spoke of it so easily, a life already written in her heart. A husband. Children. A cat. And all of it felt so fragile, so precious under the cold, distant gaze of the stars.

And in that moment, I saw it. The flicker of something else in her eyes. A deep, aching sadness that she tried to hide behind her brave, confident facade.

"It's why you tie your real name and identity to your transformed name. 'Uriko-hime.' isn't that right? It's a declaration," I said, my voice soft with understanding. "You're public. But nobody has ever seen Princess Uriko without the green hair. The regalia. The Divine Relics. The... Kusanagi Sword, the Yata Mirror, and the Magatama."

She went still. The playful light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a wary caution. "You're observant."

"It's a shield," I continued, piecing it together. "One day, when your powers begin to fade, when your body can no longer keep up with the magic, or you just... get old... Princess Uriko can just... vanish. One day."

She didn't deny it. She just looked at me, her amber eyes unreadable.

Then, she shrugged.

"Who knows? The ministers around me have always told me people change their minds. But I would like to keep options open if I ever want to be a nobody," she said.

But I knew there was more to it than that.

It was a promise. A promise to herself, and to the family she held so dear. A promise that one day, she would be free.

"But enough about that. Look!"

She pointed back towards the constellation she'd identified for me earlier, her finger tracing the celestial shape.

There was a streak of light. A meteor, burning a brilliant white as it tore across the heavens.

"The Heavens weep," she whispered, a strange, reverent awe in her voice. "It's said that when a soul passes, a star falls, shedding a single tear for the life that was lost."

It was a beautiful, heartbreaking thought.

And I thought of my parents. Of the void they'd left behind. I thought of the little bakery, of the children with her brother's eyes, of a life I could barely imagine. A life of peace, of warmth, of quiet moments that felt more magical than any spell.

Uriko, whatever her name was, was the most powerful person I'd ever met up until that point. A prodigy. A princess. And even she yearned for a life of simple, beautiful things.

It wasn't fair.

And in that moment, under the weeping heavens, I felt a shift inside me.

"The Heavens, huh? The Heavens weep," I said, testing the words, feeling their weight on my tongue. "But what if they could do more than just weep? What if they could sing?"

Uriko turned to me, her eyes wide with surprise.

"The heavens weep," I said, my voice stronger now, filled with a newfound certainty. "They're telling a story. The stars are notes on a grand staff. And maybe... maybe it's time someone learned to play them properly."

It wasn't just a thought. It was a promise.

A promise to myself. To my parents. To the girl sitting beside me, who dreamed of bakeries and board games and a world where her brother could paint in peace.

And as the last light of the meteor faded, leaving behind a trail of stardust in the inky blackness, I looked at the shimmering tapestry above and didn't just see a story.

I saw a symphony. A grand, cosmic performance.

And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that one day, I would learn to conduct it. I would learn to make the heavens sing. My parents weren't just gone. They were a part of that symphony now. And one day, I would find their melody again.

I would make sure their story was heard. And those of so many others.

"Hey... how about we return to the dormitories?" Uriko said softly, her voice a gentle invitation back to the world below.

I nodded, my eyes still fixed on the stars. "Yeah."

We stood up, brushing the grass from our clothes.

The walk back to the dormitories was quiet, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was a comfortable, companionable quiet, filled with the unspoken understanding that had passed between us.

"Get some rest, Sonatina," she said, her voice soft. "You've earned it."

"You too, Princess Uriko" I said, a small, playful smile on my face.

She rolled her eyes, a fond, exasperated expression on her face.

"It's just Uriko," she said, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "But perhaps next time, I'll let you call me something different."

She yawned, stretching her arms.

"Goodnight," she said, before disappearing into a changing room.

"Goodnight," I whispered to the empty space where she'd stood.

I turned and started walking towards my own dormitory, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

"Sonatina..."

I looked back up to the sky, which was now blotted out by the campus's negentropy field generators, and the world of stars vanished. I couldn't see them anymore.

But I knew they were still there.

Perhaps the world just needed someone to bring them out again.

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