Sleep had come easy to him tonight. Restful for the first portion before things took a turn for the all too frequent worst. He never could control dreams, only be glad when the bad ones were few and far between.

The acrid scent of smoke was what started it. The disadvantage to that was having two nightmares that started with smoke. It was the sounds that differentiated the two. One went from smoke to the sound of steel on steel, sword on sword. The other went from smoke to explosions and gunfire. Two sets of memories locked in his head from hundreds of years and continents apart.

The thing the two had in common: deaths that he had tried to help prevent. Deaths he had been unable to prevent. This nightmare was slightly different. Somehow it started with the smell of smoke before the explosions. Two of them, the lead and trail vehicles exploding one after the other. The sound of screams and the smell of burning flesh. Thankfully it didn’t last much past that, a jerk of motion as Ryan sat bolt upright in bed, wiping sweat from his brow.

Calm. It was one thing his therapists had told him was he needed a way to get back to center, to calm the terrors he sometimes woke with. So it was he got dressed in loose shorts, running shoes, and a tshirt before gathering up his prized sword. Hundreds of years and a past life of ownership. It wasn’t used to fight with anymore, but for practice it could be.

Once outside he took up an open flat spot of grass about 100 feet from the main building, unsheathing the sword and taking a series of deep breaths to meditate. From there he started into a slow paced kata, more about stretching and precise movements than speed. Blade moving from point to point on slow but exact and precise movements.

As the blood flow started to warm his body up the movements gradually sped up. The technique still precise, angular cuts and blocks now being mixed in with a variety of kicks. Hazel eyes getting a far off look as they looked back through time. His moves no longer a regimented kata but a reenactment. Improvised blocks and slashes countering and deflecting attacks from over 800 years ago.

It didn’t take long before the blade was a blur of motion, 2 handed for the majority but at times having to resort to 1 handed use as his free hand was either deflecting other attacks or attacking with punches or elbows of his own.

To someone watching him it would be obvious that the fight he was reliving had him outnumbered, pivoting from one invisible attacker to the next. There would also be something that could be noticed with a closer eye watching him: tears streaming down his cheeks.

Despite the year being 2024 his mind was back to 1190 fighting a battle not for honor, but to avenge the murder of the women and children of his village. The deaths of his 2 young children and the brutal murder of his wife. The final slash before he finished would be a vicious horizontal 2 handed slash, stepping into and past his unseen target. His eyes seeing what no others could: the head rolling away, the blood on his own body from both his mortal enemies and his own from a dozen or more cuts. In its place though was a sheen of sweat dripping from his body along with the tears dropping from his cheeks.

With the ‘battle’ finished Ryan would drop to a knee. The visions of his past battles, both modern and ancient now over, his eyes simply staring at the ground. Memories though were reflecting on those he’d be unable to save, both ancient Japanese family and modern era US soldiers. When he spoke his voice was low and packed with emotion. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. Rest well and know you are still in my heart, honored and loved memories.”