Honey Garden

Prologue | 2

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PROLOGUE
Part Two

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50 years ago. . .

THE air was coiled in tension, disguised under the night breeze that swirled and danced around the two lone figures left standing. It wasn't aimed towards the other, but the anvil of weight was shared upon both their shoulders—pressing with thick melancholy and leaving a sweet taste of bitterness. It hung in the air, lingering despite the grunts and groans of dedicated pain that emitted from one of them.

After all, her weight was heavier—complete with shackled betrayal and heartbreak.

She didn't know what to say. What else was there to say, when your loved one decided to turn his back against you? Against humanity?

Nothing.

So, she let the silence reign in its throne. She let Genkai grieve.

Hanging Neck Island became a subject of taboo without being declared. The name itself was acid, the memory itself was acid, thus she didn't dare recall their victory over a month ago. When a moment of glory became a moment of hatred, ruined after that swift turn of events—of utter helplessness and disbelief, of restrained yet uncontrolled fury, and of shattered companionship.

She watched, with a scowl, as her loyal friend continue to train. Train during the day and train during the night, driving her body to hell and back to perfect her techniques. When asked of her opinion, it was already denied of imperfection, but the psychic begged to differ—there was always room for improvement. Always.

That part was far from false, yet the truth remains.

Training gave the pinkette a distraction and an outlet to project all her burning emotions and passion. Training helped her blanket all the emotional agony with a physical one. More than that, training for perfection was her purpose of life in the first place.

And she couldn't deny Genkai's purpose. A purpose that was once shared.

"How long do you plan on watching?" Tossed Genkai in mid-concentration, balancing a rapidly swirling ball of ki on the tip of a steady fingertip that hoists her perfectly upside down. A picture of impeccable balance and poise without a single tremble visible on her stretched limb and taut body; one arm tucked stiffly behind her back with only a small and—almost—unnoticeable sheen of sweat soaking the roots of cottony, pink hair as evidence to her effort.

But the collected stance Genkai held to perfection was cracked—blemished—when she glared at the ki swirling beneath her along with the occasional pants only the keenest of ears could detect.

Lan knew Genkai was glaring at her thoughts, not at her ki. Thoughts that had grilled the pinkette enough to be, for what Lan believed to be the first time, confused. A tumble that shook the psychic's unwavering confidence.

Situating herself on the veranda, sharp eyes traced each speck of white-blue lines visible on the darker, bubbling, blue ball of energy to a fault. She watched as it wavered ever so slightly—a moment of sloping deflation. A hint of frustration.

The temptation to point it out pulled on Lan's tongue, aware that her observation would either receive an irked glare or as an encouragement to further polish her moves. Genkai had always accepted her extraordinary senses with a shade of agitation.

Now was inappropriate timing, however.

With sympathy and empathy cohering within her (an aspect she could never have thought she was capable of), Lan finally had enough, frowning when the ball of energy wavered again, this time practically visible on the naked eye.