“Ataru.” You answer, your eyes tracking a single falling snowflake that slowly glides down, eventually landing on her cheek. She is pretty, not the refined beauty of Seyra and Hela, nor the overt sexual appeal of Velka, but pretty nonetheless. You have had no positive experience with the fairer sex before being carted off to this world, you will enjoy the childish beating of your heart. “I’m fast, and the form thrives on speed. It might suit you, consider trying it. I know Juyo is similar, both rely on aggressive assaults. However, Juyo leaves nothing for defence; it is less focused on movement and more on pure aggression. Think of Ataru as flowing attacks that build off each other in a symphony while Juyo is more erratic and spasmodic; it likes power and breaking its own rhythm.”

“I guess it could suit me; I’m hardly built for Djem So.” Yira flexes her arm, showing no visible bulge; for the muscle to be visible under the robes would be impressive, but you understand her meaning. “What happens if you come against a brick wall of Soresu?”

“Ah, that’s one of its great weaknesses, Soresu is built around constructing a perfect shield in which Ataru could bounce off. Your options would be to drown them with ferocity, breaking their guard or use the movement of Ataru to change the environment. It also struggles with defending against the stronger blows of Djem So. For that, I would avoid any parries and use movement to get them off balance. And if nothing works, try to pull a dirty trick on them.”

“Like this?” A ball of soft snow thrown by the Force plops onto your face, breaking apart from the gentle impact. You stagger to your feet, seeing Yira already running.

Scooping a handful of snow into your palm, your eyes target the giggling girl, you launch the snowball at your assailant, the Force guiding its path. The sphere hits the human on the back of her head, and she slumps to her knees. With a dramatic fall, she sprawls face-first into the snow, pretending the blow has slain her. You pick up both of the training swords and make your way over to your dead comrade. Offering a hand to Yira, she looks up at you with playful defiance, thinking about starting some mischief. But the snow has turned her, and your, robes wet. She accepts the hand up and returns to her feet.

The pair of you shiver from the dampness of robes that have increased in weight with the water they have absorbed. As you leave, you promise to do it again, it was fun. You do realise she is trying to use you, but everyone here uses others, it’s all part of the song and dance. In return, you do not need to use her for power; she isn’t someone who is overtly strong. But if all your meetings are similarly as enjoyable, you don’t mind just having fun. Life is not just a single struggle to attain power, it is also for enjoying.