Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
We leave the main building to go to the training hall - dojo - that is only a short walk away.
Since I didn’t know we had to go outside, I’m not wearing a coat, but neither is Aramis. The sweater I wear should be warm enough.
The sky is lighter in comparison to yesterday and when I look up to the horizon, I see the sun through the clouds. I can’t feel its warmth, since I never saw anything like that in Anima, it is an upgrade either way.
We turn around a corner of the woods and a large, rectangular hall rises in front of us. The exterior is — not surprisingly — completely made out of wood. Aramis walks towards the entrance and pushes open the door.
We enter a balcony that follows the rectangular shape of the building.
The inside is spacious, and looks ancient, with its towering wooden beams adorned with intricate carvings.
The ceiling has two rows of windows, causing natural light to filter in.
I take a few steps forward, walking past Aramis and notice that there are small suns and moons carved into the wood in different places.
I continue walking until I reach the wooden railing and look down in the open centre. Below, a blue mat spreads across the floor and students move in fluid, precise patterns — striking, blocking, countering.
To my right, stairs lead you down to the mat and Aramis walks towards them, gesturing for me to follow. As we walk, I can’t help but notice how defined everything is in here. “Honestly Aramis, what a privilege it is to be able to train in a place like this.”
“Wait until you see the Sanctum Vitae,” he says, but grimaces a second later. “Or no, better if you don’t see it. I actually hope you don’t have to visit it anytime soon.”
My eyebrows rise towards my hairline. “Why is that? If it’s even more breathtaking than this dojo, I’m dying to see it.”
“Well, that’s kind of the thing? You only go there if you’re injured. And I’d rather you stay completely healthy, safe and in one piece for as long as possible.”
I swallow. “Oh. Right. Let’s not do that, then.”
As we descend the stairs, my eyes scan the room, searching for the teacher. The students work in pairs, their movements sharp and fluent. They are definitely more advanced than I am.
“Master Sturmsong is away on business,” Aramis explains, his gaze too roams the dojo. “Con is taking over, he’s an expert, a combat prodigy some would say. Do you mind waiting here? I’ll go search for him.”
“Sure, I’ll wait.”
He glances around but doesn’t seem to find him. He eventually walks towards one of the doors underneath the balcony and disappears through it.
I keep my focus on the sparring pairs, watching how they move, taking mental notes as they go through their routines. Each fight is like a choreographed dance; some flow in graceful precision while others clash with raw intensity.
A burst of laughter draws my attention to the now opening door across from me. I expect to see Aramis, but he is not the one that appears first.
I try not to stare. I fail miserably.
The one who I presume is Con looks like a model; flawless sun kissed skin, perfectly tousled chestnut curls, high cheekbones and a strong jaw with a stubble trimmed to perfection.
His full lips are tilted in an inviting, almost mischievous grin, his frame is strong and he walks with a confidence I can only admire.
He is the definition of effortless attractiveness. Is he supposed to be my teacher? I wouldn’t mind if he could teach me some other things as well.
Aramis murmurs something to Con and he halts so abruptly that Aramis nearly collides into his back. Con’s head snaps up and our gazes connect, sending an electric wave through my body.
Of course I am already staring. Great, that is just freaking great.
But I can’t look away.
The world seems to fade, even the sounds of heavy breathing and punching fists go silent. Time stretches, wrapping around the weight of his gaze and nothing else exists.
Aramis stands beside him, and I shift my gaze to him. They’re nearly the same height, with Con being a little taller.
It’s not proper to stare, believe me, I know, but my body simply won’t listen.
I cannot shift my gaze away from them. With a lot of effort, I manage to kneel down and pull my eyes from the two handsome men, loosening the laces of my shoes.
Everyone else on the mat is barefoot, it only makes sense to take mine off as well.
Two pairs of feet appear in front of me, a breeze carrying the scent of burnt wood and oranges. Where have I scented this before? I slowly rise on somewhat unstable legs, meeting Aramis' friendly face and vivid eyes.
“Maily, this is Con. He’ll be your teacher until master Sturmsong returns.” My teacher? My gaze shifts to him, taking in his broad chest, firm arms and burning eyes. Oh, what a blessing it is. “I’d love to train you but I really hate to admit it - he is better than me.”
“You bet I am.”
My galloping heart falters. That voice…
“So, little feather, are you ready for your first lesson? It will be a private one, just for you. How privileged you are.”
Little feather.
The arrogant bastard who insulted me seconds after my arrival. The intoxicating scent belongs to him. Con must be short for Conláed, meaning he carried me to my room that first day when I was a weak, trembling mess.
Freaking fantastic.
“You know,” I say, forcing myself to meet his intense gaze. “It’s rude to comment on someone’s weight.”
Deep amber irises trap mine. “It is also very rude to be late, yet here we are.”
I bite my tongue. I don’t like being late either, but if I didn’t know I was expected at a certain hour, that isn’t on me. But I remain silent.
“Yeah, I thought so,” he muses. “Since you missed warm-ups, why don’t you start on those. Run some laps around the mat.”
“How many?”
“You don’t get to ask questions, feather. I do. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
I narrow my eyes. He’s got to be kidding.
Aramis moves closer, drawing my attention away from the arrogant prick in front of me.
The look he gives me is full of sympathy.
“Sorry, Mai. The longer you wait, the more laps he’ll add.
” He leans in, the scent of pine getting stronger.
“You got this,” he says with a soft voice.
“I’d love to join you, but I have to go back to the Sanctum.
Promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He starts walking backwards, but halts.
“Please, try not to end up there, okay?”
I nod. If I don’t vocally word a promise, it doesn’t really count, now does it? I can’t make promises like that, not if I don’t know what will come at me.
Aramis whispers something to the already grinning Conláed. He nods too, raising his brows as he takes me in.
“Do you need a cheerleading squad to get started, or what?”
For a second or two I debate biting back, which is very unlike me. But the rational part inside of my brain thinks it might be wise not to rile up the one who will teach me the art of combat.
I do think I have to reconsider my opinion on everyone being kind around here. He definitely is not. Before he can give me another remark, I put my shoes back on and start running.
My breath starts wheezing after my second round, even though my pace is terribly slow, which confirms again how out of shape I am.
My legs hurt, my lungs burn, sweat drips down my spine and the delicious scrambled eggs I ate earlier, are currently having a little rebellion in my stomach.
If this is what moving your body feels like, I want none of it.
Yet, I push through, ignoring every instinct in my body that begs me to stop. Without looking, I feel when Conláed is watching me, his eyes leaving a mark on my skin I cannot erase.
When the feeling ebbs away, I search for him between the fighting pairs, seeing how he corrects stances and gives instructions or demonstrations. But he doesn’t tell me to stop, so I keep running, grinding my teeth as I do so.
After what feels like my twentieth round, he suddenly runs beside me. Although fast walking might be a better name for it. I’m already burning hot, but with him running next to me - his heat radiating in waves from him - I feel like I’m going to be a puddle on the wooden ground underneath my feet.
“So,” he drawls. “Warmed up yet?”
I can barely breathe, let alone answer his stupid question. “Nah…still…cold…” I don’t even know why my mouth forms those words, I’m sure I will regret them later. Fuck.
He chuckles. Nice to see he still has enough lung capacity to laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see how far you can push that tiny body of yours, but I don’t want to carry you to the Sanctum.” He halts, but I keep going. “Stop. That’s an order.”
But here’s the thing; I don’t do well with orders. I’ve been ordered around for five long years, I will stop on my own accord. Even though every muscle in my body begs me to give in. I will push through a little longer, just to prove that I can.
He runs next to me once more, thankfully not physically making me stop. And eventually, I slow down, my legs begging me to stop, and I lean heavily on my knees.
“Keep walking, feather. Your heart is working overtime, pumping blood to your legs. If you don’t like fainting, I suggest you start moving and walk it off.”
My ears pick up what he’s saying, but oh, it is so hard to make my legs move and listen to the advice he gives me. Yet, I move one foot in front of the other. A snail would be faster right now.
After three more laps, my heartbeat gradually slows down. It’s no longer the galloping gazelle in my chest, but my body screams out in pain and soreness either way.
Conláed gives instructions to the group so they can begin their next exercise and he walks over to me once more. “Do you have any idea how long you’ve run? And I mean really running, not dragging yourself forward step by step.”
I squeeze my eyes at him. “I don’t know, thirty minutes maybe?”
He snorts. “Well, you think highly of yourself, let’s take that down by twenty.”
I stop walking and turn to him, frustration again building inside of me. “That cannot be true, I ran much longer —”
“Yes, that is true,” he says, interrupting me mid-sentence. “Let’s just say you ran for three minutes at your top speed before you began slowing down. You are out of shape to say the least. What have you been doing all your life?”
A punch to my gut would’ve been kinder. My blood begins to boil. “You have no idea…”
He holds up a hand, interrupting me once more. “I don’t and I don’t really care either. Go get some water at the fountain over there and come back once you’ve hydrated yourself.”
I open my mouth and close it again. Even if I would be brave enough to say something back, I’m not a rude person. Not even to a prick like him. Yes, he is insufferable, but I won’t lower myself to his level.
Instead, I search the fountain, noticing a weird rock formation about five feet high, where water runs between the cracks. Glasses stand on the table next to it and I grab one, holding it underneath the stream until it’s full.
The water is cool and tastes delicious, as if it really comes from a mountain somewhere around here. I fill another glass and down it within seconds.
My gaze lands on Conláed once more, the black fabric of his T-shirt clings to his body, the defined muscles of his stomach flexing as he moves. Why does the tormenter of my soul have to be so good looking? It’s unfair.
I shake off the thought and place my glass back on the table. I walk towards the mat, take my shoes off again and wait until Conláed is done explaining before he returns to me. He looks me up and down. “You good?”
I feel like a living corpse, but would rather die than admitting that. “I am.”
The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe me, but he nods either way and walks towards a corner of the mat, away from prying eyes.
“Fighting is a dance of controlled chaos, where rhythm, footwork and instinct move in perfect harmony.” He quickly glances my way to see if I’m keeping up. “You…are not ready for that.”
Steam blows out of my ears. No, seriously. How is this man still alive? He knows no shame and… I sigh. Well, he does have a point. Again.
The smirk on his face is seconds away from breaking into laughter, but he seems to get a grip on himself.
“What you are ready for is breathing exercises.” Not really what I was expecting him to say.
“Breathing is fundamental while training and battling,” he explains.
“It keeps you focused, steady and can keep panic at bay in precarious situations.”
He sits down cross-legged and gestures for me to do the same. I sigh, but oblige. Only because sitting down doesn’t sound half that bad right now. I leave some space between us, maybe three feet, but the heat that radiates off his body is impossible to ignore.
“Sit up straight.”
I do.
“Straighter.”
My backbone might be a stick for how straight I’m sitting, but I push my shoulders down even more and elongate my spine and neck.
“Better.” Alas, I am doing something good, who would’ve thought? “Now, keep that position, but try to move with your breathings. It should flow, and not be stiff as a board.”
He analyses me for a second and I do the same, even though I have no idea where this bravery comes from.
But where he doesn’t lack the confidence, I unfortunately do.
I resist the urge to look away until he speaks again.
“Slowly breathe in through your nose, feel your diaphragm expand, and hold for four seconds. Then exhale through your mouth, again slow and steady.”
He demonstrates the movement and I follow along, feeling how my heartbeat slows down even more. Our breaths sync and after a couple of minutes of silence, he speaks again. “Close your eyes and focus on your breathing.”
A hand lands on both sides of my ribs and for a second I stop breathing.
His touch burns and shivers crawl up my spine.
“Breathe in and push your ribs out against my hands.” I follow his instructions, hoping he will release me, but not wanting him to let go either.
After two deep breaths, his hands fall away, but his touch lingers. “Good.”
The world eventually fades away until I’m fully turned into myself. The air around me thickens and the scent of fire and citrus engulfs me. It’s a delicious combination that makes my heartbeat rise.
I move forward, unable to resist the tug I feel deep down. And right when I’m about to topple over, the scent disappears. I open my eyes, only to see Conláed walking away towards one of his students.