19. 19 #2
I continue to repeat the movements as Nyxalene circles the room, sharp-eyed and silent, tracking every motion I make.
More time passes, and more of my muscles ache.
My shoulders, my wrists, the base of my spine, every part of me is screaming.
For the first time, I fully understand the phrase I’ve reached my limit, because I have.
But I won’t quit. I fight through the exhaustion.
I need her to approve. I can’t explain why. I just do.
I’m mid-strike when Orion returns to the room alone. Lord Zevrin is no longer with him.
“There have been no updates on new movements after the Redlock Chamber incident,” Orion announces, eyes scanning the space before settling briefly on me. “What is the status of her progression?”
Nyxalene doesn’t hesitate. “She's handling the movements well. Her balance is strong considering how new the form is. But . . .” She glances at me, then back to him.
“I believe she needs to see it done by someone who shares the same form.
She's adjusting instinctively, but she has no frame of reference for what it should look like.”
My eyes track him, bracing for seriousness based on Nyxalene’s request. Instead, a sharp grin spreads across his face, and I freeze. There’s a flicker of something eager behind it, like he’s been waiting for this moment.
Nyxalene notices. She exhales softly and brushes a few strands of hair away from her face. “With your permission, I would like a brief moment to stretch and eat. I've been circling this chamber longer than I would have liked.”
Orion nods. “Take your time.”
She doesn’t say anything else as she dips her head once and glides toward the door, disappearing through the soft shimmer of current trailing in her wake.
Orion floats in place for a moment, watching me with that same grin tugging at his mouth. Arms crossed loosely, a teasing light dances across his eyes.
“So,” he says, slow and amused. “You survived a Nyxalene training session without crying. Impressive.”
I roll my eyes. “I still might. I’m now stuck with you.”
“Ouch,” he chuckles, shifting into a wide stance with one smooth flick of his tail—spine tall, arms raised in fluid precision. He mirrors the movements I’ve been practicing, but with a refinement that makes it look effortless.
“You're coiling too tightly,” he says.
I open my mouth to respond, but he glides toward me, his tail guiding him forward at a slow, methodical pace. The water stirs gently around us with each pass of his tail as he closes the space between us without breaking eye contact.
“You're also not anchored properly,” he murmurs, and then he’s there, close enough that I feel the shift in current before he touches me.
His hand lifts, and two of his fingers press lightly against the space just below my ribs, right at my core. It’s not a bold touch. Not possessive. But it anchors me in place. Warm. Foreign in a way that makes my breath catch.
“This is where your control lives,” he says. “Right here. If this isn't steady, the rest of you will collapse.”
I blink. “Your general said to coil tighter.”
I should move, but I don’t. Surprisingly, I don’t want him to move, either. He lingers only a second longer, pulling back as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just reach inside my ribcage, igniting something into a low simmer.
“She doesn't have your body type,” he counters, tilting his head. “You are more compact. Your strength is different. Watch.”
He moves to the center of the ring and stills, drawing his weight inward.
He slashes twice before transitioning into a horizontal strike and a precise stabbing motion, every movement flowing seamlessly into the next.
His tail coils beneath him in perfect tension, steady and powerful, and his body doesn’t waver once.
“Now, you try,” he pushes.
I take a breath, starting again, doing my best to mimic him—his stance, his control, the sharp, fluid angles of his movements. Left and down. Right and down. Horizontal across the face, but halfway through, my focus slips.
My memory remembers the way his fingers felt against my skin mere moments ago.
Not rough or commanding. Gentle. He knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what it would do to me.
My tail wavers beneath me, balance faltering, as my cheeks feel warm and my stomach flips over itself. Why am I getting butterflies?
“You alright there, Snapdragon?” Orion asks quietly. He dips down until his eyes are level with mine, leaving a small space between us.
I blink. He’s too close.
“I—I’m fine,” I say, stumbling over my words like I’ve never spoken English in my life. All my college education, every academic thought I’ve ever had, is gone. Scattered.
I shouldn’t be getting nervous around him. I shouldn’t be letting him distract me. Especially not now. I made a commitment to train and adapt. And I plan to do just that.
A slow smile builds on his face as he studies me. “You sure? Because something seems to be distracting you.”
“The only thing distracting me is your sizable body being in my bubble while I’m trying to mimic the exercises you just performed.”
His grin spreads further across his face now, his eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. “Oh. My apologies.” He drifts backward through the water, tail moving in smooth, lazy motions which gives me enough room to move, but not enough to breathe.
“How's everything feeling?” he asks.
“I’m sore. Everywhere,” I sigh, not stopping the movements. I continue slowly, matching his form as best I can, until the rhythm feels carved into my muscles.
“That's normal,” he says. “You'll adjust quickly. Just like you have done with everything else.”
He says it with certainty, like he doesn’t expect anything less from me. Like he already believes I will. And that somehow makes me want to try harder.