Seshka walked to near the fire and picked up a wooden pole, weighing it in her hands before she threw it over to Tyler, almost casual, as if passing over a ball while playing.

  Although the throw was well aimed and not powerful, Tyler barely caught it, his grip fumbling along the shaft until he brought it under control. His fingers tightened around the wood; he wasn’t sure if it was instinctively or just to make sure he didn’t drop it.

  “You seem to favour this weapon,” she said. “Or at least I have seen you use it. That will work for now. We can adjust as we go.”

  Tyler twisted the pole around his body by twisting his hands. There was no skill involved here or fighting prowess, it was just getting used to the weight, the length, getting a feeling for the weapon.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked. He wasn’t sure what she wanted. Did she want him to display some moves, maybe use his mana skill? He’d be up for that. He was interested in what he could really do with that.

  “Just land a blow on me, just one single blow. Do that and the lesson is over.”

  Seshka stepped back a pace and stopped, leaving just enough distance between the two that Tyler couldn’t just swing with the pole and hit her. She moved her feet slightly, letting them sit naturally into the dirt. She didn’t draw her weapon or raise her hands in a defensive stance. She just stood there, relaxed, watching and waiting for him.

  Tyler blinked. That’s it? Well, it made sense. She probably wanted to see what he was capable of, no point teaching someone how to swing a bat if they already know. Fine.

  He squared his shoulders and adjusted his grip, so he was holding the pole near its centre. She might be more skilled — obviously — but this wasn’t some death match. He had time to set up and attack. He was also not the same person; these stat points had changed him. He had speed, strength, enough that back home he’d have been considered top tier by any reasonable standard.

  This is doable. A straight rush would be obvious. Seshka was watching his eyes, his stance, everything. She would see that coming, heck, he might even see something like that coming.

  But maybe that was the right tactic — give her exactly what she expected from him right up until the end. Run in hard and fast with the pole held low at his side, make it look like he’s going for her shoulder. Then at the last moment, spin the pole and sweep her legs. Don’t give her time to adjust.

  It was simple and clean, would show Seshka he was not completely helpless, and would hopefully not hurt Seshka too much.

  Tyler gritted his teeth and surged forward, a battle cry tearing from his throat, more adrenaline than intent. His eyes locked on Seshka’s upper body, his pole angled as if readying a strike at her shoulder. His whole movement screamed of a direct attack.

  Seshka didn’t flinch or startle; her eyes never gave away the slightest hint of surprise. She did, however, slide her front foot back along the ground, slow and steady, like a child writing their name in the sand. She leaned back slightly, her shoulder shifting — this was what Tyler had wanted. She had fallen for his plan.

  Her sliding foot stopped. She shifted her weight to her heel and turned ever so slightly. The strike missed her thigh by millimetres, the pole skimming down the line of her leg, never making contact. In the same motion, she drove her shoulder forward into the oncoming charge.

  Her weight met his momentum, and suddenly there was nothing solid in front of him at all. He went tumbling through the air as the ground rushed up to meet him. He pitched forward, his chest slamming into the ground, breath blasting out of him as his weapon skidded away.

  He lay there panting, trying to get his breathing under control in sharp, humiliating gasps. He spat dirt from his mouth as he failed to get straight back up.

  Behind him, Seshka stood exactly where she had been before. Upright. Balanced. Breathing evenly.

  She looked down at him, head tilted slightly. Was there a look of disappointment on her face?

  “…Again,” she said calmly.

  Tyler groaned, rolling onto his side. He lay there for a moment longer than he needed to, staring at the dirt.

  So much for easy.

  Right, he thought. So that didn’t work as planned.

  He pushed himself up, brushing dust from his sleeves, retrieving the pole and rolling his shoulders as if that might somehow reset the last few seconds. Seshka hadn’t moved. She hadn’t even looked like she’d tried.

  That bothered him more than the fall — how easily she had avoided the attack and taken him down. He was wheezing while she looked like she hadn’t even warmed up.

  Okay. Think, Tyler said to himself. In hindsight, that attack was probably obvious. He had committed too much to it, hoping for quick success. He’d gone in with his plan already written, which meant the moment he started his charge, the outcome had been locked in place. She hadn’t needed to react to his pole; she’d reacted to him from the start.

  He took a few slow steps back, loosening his grip on the pole this time, letting the tip dip and sway as if he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with it. He widened his stance, knees bent, weight spread more evenly.

  Okay, don’t plan. Be fluid. Dynamic, even. Don’t rush. Don’t telegraph.

  He advanced again, but this time slower. No charge. No unintended battle cry. He kept his grip on the pole loose and let its weight move around, the end dancing towards Seshka. His eyes flicked between her shoulders, her hips, her feet, not letting her know where he was attacking.

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  Seshka mirrored him without mirroring him. Well, at least that’s how Tyler interpreted it. Her stance adjusted so subtly it barely registered, but Tyler felt it — the way she always seemed settled, grounded, like she’d already arrived where she needed to be.

  He jabbed suddenly, not aiming to hit, just to see what she’d do. An instinctive impulse that surprised him — it must surely surprise Seshka as well.

  She simply stepped aside, as if someone taking a lazy step on a summer day. The pole slid harmlessly through empty space where her chest had just been. Her hand brushed Tyler’s extended forearm — not hard, but purposeful.

  He stumbled forward, just catching himself from falling over this time, his leg stepping far under him in an almost comical fashion.

  Had he given a tell? Maybe it wasn’t as spontaneous as he thought — a smile on his face, his eyes widening just before he moved. He frowned, stepping back and circling her now.

  Al laughed in his mind. “Silly, silly. Oh, this is fun. I like it. She’s not reacting to your weapon. She’s reacting to intent.”

  “What, so that means the moment I decide, she already knows what I’m going to do? That seems a bit unfair.”

  Al just giggled a little more in his mind, feeling quite content to let Tyler figure this out on his own.

  So what, I’m meant to not think? Just… what? Flow? Be empty?

  He snorted, getting a puzzled look from Seshka. Right. Be empty. Because that’s never been cliché before. Next she’ll have me carrying buckets of water up a mountain.

  He attacked again. This time he varied his rhythm — half-steps, feints, a quick shuffle forward followed by a sudden stop. He switched his grip mid-motion, sliding his hands along the shaft, changing reach and leverage on the fly.

  If he didn’t quite know what he intended to do, how could she? He’d force her to react.

  Seshka didn’t. She shifted her weight, letting his pole glance past her again. This time, though, she placed her foot behind his as he overextended. Again, the ground disappeared.

  Tyler hit the dirt with a grunt, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky, lungs burning.

  Okay, he thought. So this is the part where the student realises he’s been doing it wrong the whole time. The part where wisdom flows into them and they improve.

  He sat up, sweat already forming along his brow despite the cool air. His arms ached faintly. His shoulder throbbed where it had taken the last fall.

  Seshka stood where she always had, hands relaxed at her sides, breathing slow and steady. She didn’t look tired. She didn’t even look amused.

  She was waiting. Waiting for Tyler to attack, to land a blow. She looked so smug.

  Tyler got to his feet again, slower this time, a few groans coming from his mouth as he steadied himself on his pole.

  What does she want me to see? If she even does. Maybe she’s just enjoying knocking me to the ground.

  Tyler tightened his grip on the pole, eyes narrowing slightly.

  Okay. It’s not just movement, he thought. She’s controlling the exchange. Closing options before I even get to them.

  He glanced down at his hands.

  He’d used mana instinctively before — in panic, in desperation — but this wasn’t that. This was training. Controlled. Measured.

  Maybe she wants me to change the equation. Maybe she’s looking for more. Not a lot. Just enough. Enough to tip the balance.

  Tyler steadied his breathing and reached inward, to that familiar twisting pressure he now recognised as his mana. It responded immediately, warm and restless, coiling in his chest.

  He guided a thin thread of it down his arms, letting it pool briefly in his palms. It hummed faintly, eager. He let just a trickle seep into the pole — not enough to overload it, not enough to overexert himself, but enough so he knew it was there.

  The moment he cut the flow, the pole felt different. It felt lighter. Cleaner. Giving it an experimental swing, it sliced through the air with less resistance, as if the space around it had decided to get out of the way.

  Okay, he thought. That’s promising.

  He stepped in smoothly, the pole moving with him as if it were an extension of his arms rather than something he was wielding. And for the first time, Seshka moved first.

  She turned as he attacked, spinning with the motion, her foot snapping out with sudden precision. Her kick struck the underside at the bottom of the pole. The force pivoted the weapon in his hands, whipping the upper end around faster than Tyler could react. It cracked into the side of his head, and the mana he’d infused detonated.

  Not a full explosion. Just a sharp, concussive pop of white force that sent Tyler flying backward. He hit the ground hard several metres away, skidding through the dirt before coming to a stop in a dazed heap.

  The sky spun lazily above him, his ears rang, and all he could say was, “Ow!”

  Tyler blinked, trying to focus, as footsteps approached quickly. Seshka knelt beside him, her expression no longer neutral — concern creasing her brow as she checked his eyes.

  She exhaled slowly, a slight look of relief spreading across her face.

  “Worse than I thought,” she said. “You give the impression you’ve never fought before. Was I mistaken when I first saw you, or did you just paint yourself with blood to imitate a fighter?”

  Tyler swallowed, still panting, eyes fixed somewhere just past her shoulder. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. His lungs burned, chest heaving, sweat stinging his eyes.

  “No,” he said quietly. “I— I’ve fought. Just… not like this.”

  Seshka straightened slightly, studying him.

  “We have a lot of work to do,” she said. “You have speed. You have strength. You even have a limited control of your mana pool.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you have no instincts to support any of it.”

  That stung more than the fall. Being told he had no instincts felt like a jab at his very being.

  She rose to her feet, arms folding loosely as she looked down at him.

  “Do you know why it was so easy for me?” she asked. “Why I’m standing here feeling fresh while you’re gasping for breath in lungs that are probably on fire right now?”

  Tyler grimaced, nodding faintly.

  “You’re trained,” he said. “You’ve probably had hundreds of lessons. Fought more people than I can count. You know what to expect.”

  Seshka tilted her head.

  “Partially right,” she said. “I have trained all my life. And I’ve had more fights than most survive.”

  She paused.

  “But that’s not why this was easy.”

  Tyler frowned slightly, still on the ground, still catching his breath.

  “The reason,” she continued, “is that my chakra is controlled and yours simply is not”

  Tyler blinked.

  “…My what?”

  “Yours,” she said flatly, “is chaotic at best.”

  She crouched again, tapping two fingers lightly against the centre of his chest.

  “You pour strength, speed, mana, and intent into your body all at once, without structure. You spike, you burn, you collapse. Every movement you make leaks information.”

  She straightened again.

  “What cycle do you follow?”

  Tyler stared at her.

  “Cycle?”

  “Yes. Chakra cycle.”

  “…I don’t follow one.”

  Seshka closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them slowly.

  “Of course you don’t,” she muttered. “Claudios is truly testing me.”

  “Who?”

  She waved the question away.

  “I’m on the Thread Cycle,” she continued. “It narrows the channels, regulates output, focuses precision over excess. It keeps my body, breath, and intent aligned.”

  She looked down at Tyler again.

  “You,” she said, “are trying to fight with everything at once.”

  Tyler shifted, pushing himself up onto one elbow.

  “So… less?” he asked.

  Seshka’s mouth twitched.

  “No,” she said. “Ordered.”

  She turned and walked a few steps back toward the training ground, then stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

  “Get up,” she said. “We’re starting again.”

  Tyler groaned softly, forcing himself to his feet.