“Different.”
Zyxel’s mouth curved—barely. Not warmth. Not mercy. An acknowledgment.
“Different,” he agreed.“But how do I look?”
Kaede circled him slowly, cataloging the tells. The uneven way his weight settled into legs that still felt wrong. The hitch in his balance, like his body was reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore. The tension locked into his shoulders as muscles—ones he hadn’t relied on in years—worked too hard to compensate, straining to remember a shape that no longer existed.
“Like someone who needs a lot of practice.”
Zyxel’s jaw tightened—an expression that looked strange on his newly formed face, like a mask that didn’t quite fit. “I feel... wrong. Everything is in the wrong place. My center of gravity—”
“—is no longer in your coils. I know.” Kaede moved to the war room’s side panel, keying in a sequence that slid a hidden compartment open. Training weapons gleamed inside—padded sparring blades, weighted staves, practice daggers meant to bruise, not cut. Tools he’d crafted for his star. For their children. For moments that never came soon enough. “Your body remembers a shape you wore for years. We need to teach it new memories.”
He reached in—and instead of a weapon, flicked a small disk toward Zyxel.
“Catch.”
The medic’s hand snapped out on instinct, closing around it midair. Kaede nodded once. “Clothing disk. You dress yourself. No reason you should be walking around naked—even if half our clanbrothers don’t bother with clothes.” A faint huff. “Z only ever wears a kilt and a cape, and no one’s brave enough to argue with him.”
Kaede tapped his own chest. “Selena has one. I have one. Efficient. Adaptive. Adds a defensive layer if things go sideways.” His gaze sharpened. “You’ll want it.”
“Clothing or not,” Zyxel drawled, glancing down at himself, “I was under the impression nudity was considered a sign of trust around here.”
Kaede snorted. “It is. Doesn’t mean I want to look at you.”
Zyxel’s mouth curved faintly as he pressed the disk to the center of his chest. The tech reacted instantly—liquid fabric blooming outward in smooth, decisive lines. Black and silver wrapped his torso, reinforced panels locking into place with a soft hum, the cut unmistakably similar to Kaede’s and the Fab Five’s field uniforms. Practical. Armored. Made to move.
Kaede’s eyes flicked over him once. “You can copy the look,” he said flatly. “But don’t confuse that with replacing me. I’m the original.”
Zyxel’s humor vanished. He lifted his gaze, steady and unapologetic. “I don’t need to replace you,” he said quietly. “I already have Selena.”
A low growl tore out of him as he grabbed a weighted staff and hurled it toward Zyxel.
The medic’s hand snapped out—reflexes intact, at least—but his grip was wrong, his stance unstable. The staff’s weight pulled him off-balance, and he stumbled forward, his missing tail failing to compensate.
He went down hard, the clatter of the staff echoing through the war room.
“Then stand up,” Kaede said coldly, “and prove you can keep her.”
Kaede watched him struggle to right himself, taking note of every fumbled movement, every misplaced muscle memory.
“Your instincts are serpentine. Your body isn’t. Until you reconcile those two things, you’re a liability.” He selected his own practice blade, the weighted metal familiar in his grip. “We start with basics. Balance. Movement. Then we add Ryzen to the mix.”
“Ryzen?” Zyxel finally steadied himself, the staff held awkwardly but firmly. Sweat—actual sweat, a new sensation for this body—beaded at his temples. “You spoke to him about this?”
“Not yet.” Kaede moved to the center of the room, gesturing for Zyxel to join him. “But I will. He needs this as much as you do. His brother’s capture has left him...” He searched for the right word. “Unstable. Volatile. Training will give him focus. Purpose.”
And it would force the three of them to learn each other’s rhythms. To trust each other in ways that words couldn’t build.
Kaede had fought alongside his sisters and clanbrothers for years. He knew V’dim’s patterns—the way his tentacles would feint left before striking right. He knew Z’fir’s tells—the subtle shift of his vines that meant he was about to surge forward. He knew the way Z’s shadow moved before the Sovereign did, darkness rippling a heartbeat before violence followed.
That knowledge had saved their lives more times than he could count.
Zyxel and Ryzen were unknowns. Variables in an equation that needed to balance perfectly when they reached the CEG.
Failure wasn’t an option. Not again.
“Take a stance,” Kaede ordered. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees bent. Weight distributed evenly.”
