Nyxara
Deciding to lean into delusion for now, without lifting my head from the door, I turn left, then right. What I can see without straining my neck gives the impression the training room is very spartan. The complete silence of the room does make me wonder if there are soundproofing glyphs layered into the walls. I can hear nothing from the outside and I bet they can hear nothing that happens inside. The glimpse of multiple glyphs and sigils engraved into the walls pulls me away from the door to examine them.
Why do some glyphs sparkle, others shimmer, or blink in and out like they're doing their own thing? Questions to add to the growing list. After examining the glyphs and sigils for another minute, I finally turn around to take in the rest of the room. The rest of the room shows high ceilings and only one other exit that goes outside. With an internal sigh, I stop trying to control my thoughts. They are very bad thoughts for refusing to let me pretend I'm not still burning with embarrassment.
I can't believe I went into a daze staring at Rakesh. The moment I saw that smile, I also caught a hint of his birch and oud scent. My mind went fuzzy, and I became enthralled by him. I guess Lux's worry about my reactions to Alphas—assuming that's what Rakesh is—is definitely valid. He said he would get resistance training added to my schedule. I'll be needing it if I don't want to be seen as easy prey. My hand spasms for a moment at the thought. Making me hopeful I didn't just find another potential trigger.
As I feel my body trying to work itself into a spiral, an intense gaze upon me pulls my attention. When I open my eyes, I am surprised when my gaze meets Keir's. He stands feet apart, patiently waiting in the center of an enormous mat. He didn't smile, didn't scowl. He just watched me with unnerving focus. "Are you ready to begin?"
It appears I was wrong to doubt my older brothers' warning about Keir. I can already tell from the energy coming off him that he is going to be a taskmaster. I nodded my head, and he pointed to the shoe cubby shelf. After placing my boots and other belongings in the cubby, I joined him on the mat, waiting for instructions.
"You've had your warm-ups and sensory training with Lux. And flexibility plus a health check with Aspen," Keir says evenly. "Now it's time to sweat." He doesn't wait for a response. "We're starting with strikes." His first demonstration was crisp, exact. Shoulder, hip, foot, breath—all locked into one movement. He did it again, faster, then again so sharply it blurred. "Your turn. A set of ten with no mistakes. Then we will move on to kicks."
I try to follow his examples. I did have some self-defense training, but I quickly feel like I should forget what I have learned. My first strike is sloppy. He is at my side instantly, a hand at my shoulder, another tapping my ribs. "Lower. Engage here. Again." I do it again—and it's better. Keir immediately cures me of my delusion. Delusion really isn't being my friend right now.
"Too soft. Again." So I do it again, this time sharper. Something clicks, and I feel I'm closer to doing what Keir had shown me. I wait for Keir's critique. "Better. Now, ten without mistakes." Asshole. No actual praise, just instructions. Something about Keir right now doesn't make me think glaring at him like I did Lux and Aspen during our sessions would really fly without consequences. I'm going to earn the right to glare at him or something. Gotta choose something as the goal; might as well be that. I don't take Keir's behavior personally. Neither do I let my annoyance with him get in the way of me completing the task.
We don't stop for what feels like hours. For every adjustment I make, he finds another flaw. Every time, his voice is steady, never raised, never impatient. Only direct. Soon my arms are aching and my breath is coming out in wheezes. Sweat gathers everywhere, making my clothes cling to my body. I'm pushed over and over again until my form shakes with effort.
"Good," Keir says, evaluating my form. He mutters the rejuvenation spell for the second time this session, and I'm back to full strength. I smile in relief at not feeling like I was going to collapse. He wipes my smile away with his next words. "Now kicks. Thirty each side."
My jaw drops. "Thirty? Did you just say I need to do thirty kicks on each side? So I'm doing sixty kicks in total." My clenched fists bit into my palms, snapping me out of the red haze that was coming over me. Keir demonstrates how he wants the kicks to look, then turns to me with his now very familiar neutral expression.
"It can be forty if you argue. Begin." I crack my neck and back as I obey. I keep my eyes off him; otherwise, I might snap. They were right. I want to hurt him. This 'reforging' is no joke. I feel taken apart and put back together. High kick. Reset. Mid kick. Reset. Low kick. Reset. By twenty, my thighs burn. By thirty, my balance wavered. I stumbled and caught myself.
Keir didn't soften. "You excel at kicks. Good. Other side now." I didn't look at him, but my hands threw him the bird before I obeyed. My lungs were fire by the end. Another rejuvenation spell cast, and I was 100% again.
He allowed me a bathroom and water break before he moved me onto drills—combinations of strikes, kicks, pivots—faster, harder, without pause. He circled like a hawk, correcting my posture with precise touches: a hand to my elbow, a push at my hip, a tap against my ankle. Never cruel, never careless—just strict. It became clear very quickly what elite looks like to Keir. Aspen wasn't kidding when he said this is his religion. I respect his standard, but I really am reaching my limit.
By the final set, my whole body screamed. I wanted to collapse where I stood. Just drop right here to be found in the morning or whenever someone comes in here to clean. So imagine my surprise when he barked, "One more." I did it automatically—clean, sharp, everything aligned. Keir gave a single nod. "Good. You're done."
I dropped to the mat, chest heaving, sweat dripping from my temples. Every muscle trembled. But beneath the exhaustion, I sensed I was steadier than before. My body felt alive and capable, not broken. I feel more in control of my own body now.
A flicker on the edge of my awareness—a presence where shadow met stone pillar. I glanced once, but there was nothing to see. I must be more out of it than I thought if I'm imagining watchers in the shadows. Keir's voice cuts through my musings.
He crouched beside me, passing me my water bottle with a new addition. He had added a straw. I couldn't even smile; my face was so tired. But I tried to convey my gratefulness in my eyes. "I pushed you harder than planned."
I felt I had earned it, so I shot him a weak glare. "You think? At what point did you come to that conclusion?" I turned on my side so I could sip my water more easily. Water never tasted so good before. I'm taking a shower when I can move again. I feel icky.
Keir's mouth curved into his familiar smile. Like removing a glamour piece by piece, Keir began to resemble my sunshine brother again. "You needed something immediate. Proof you are in control. That you aren't just surviving anymore but are adapting so you can thrive. Every other lesson will take time for you to see this truth. This one, you can feel now."
I stared at him, then let out a shaky laugh, somewhere between relief and disbelief. "I don't like you right now." Keir ruffles my hair then smoothes it down. "That's okay. You will thank me later."
And when I staggered to my feet to walk around so my muscles didn't tense up, I realize my body really did feel stronger than it did two hours ago. And based on Keir's knowing smile he knew my thanks would be coming soon.