Zyxel tried to comply. His body fought him, muscles remembering coils instead of legs, balance seeking a center that no longer existed. His feet twitched constantly, instinctively trying to counterbalance a form he wasn’t used to.
“Wrong.” Kaede moved behind him, adjusting his posture with clinical efficiency. His hands were firm but not cruel as he repositioned the medic’s hips, pressed down on his shoulders. “Your hips are too far forward. You’re compensating for a tail you don’t have to balance you anymore. Shift your weight back.”
“It feels unnatural.”
“Itisunnatural. For you.” Kaede stepped away, raising his practice blade. “But unnatural isn’t the same as impossible. Your species adapted to survive. Now adapt again.”
He attacked without warning.
The blade swept toward Zyxel’s midsection, a testing strike meant to evaluate his reflexes. His staff came up—too slow, angle wrong—and Kaede’s blade connected with his ribs.
Not hard enough to injure. Hard enough to teach.
Zyxel stumbled back, breath hissing through his fanged teeth. His clawed hand pressed against the impact point, chartreuse eyes wide with surprise.
“Again.” Kaede reset his stance. “This time, move your feet.”
“You could have warned me.”
“Your enemies won’t warn you.” Kaede struck again—high this time, toward the shoulder. Zyxel’s block was faster but still clumsy, the impact jarring through both their weapons. “They’ll attack when you’re tired. When you’re distracted. When you’re protecting someone you love and can’t afford to fail.”
Something shifted in Zyxel’s expression.
Understanding. And beneath it, the same fierce determination that had answered Kaede’s earlier challenge.
“Again,” Zyxel hissed, glaring at him.
They trained.
An hour passed. Then another. The war room filled with the sounds of weapons clashing, feet shuffling, bodies moving through patterns that slowly, gradually, began to make sense. Kaede called corrections without mockery, adjustments without cruelty. His voice stayed flat, professional—the same tone he’d used training the Fab Five years ago.
Zyxel fell more times than Kaede could count. Each time, he rose. Each time, his stance improved. His blocks came faster. His movements grew more fluid, the new body learning what the old one had known instinctively.
He was a scholar, Kaede reminded himself. A healer. A male who approached problems with calculation and analysis, breaking them down into components he could understand and master.
Now he was applying that same methodology to his own flesh.
“His neural pathways are adapting,”REI observed.“The Rkekh genetic structure allows for accelerated motor learning. At this rate, he’ll achieve basic competency before departure.”
Forty-eight hours.
They had forty-six before departure.
“Then we don’t stop,”Kaede replied.
He blocked another of Zyxel’s strikes—this one nearly landing, his new body’s timing finally catching up to his instincts—and allowed himself a fraction of approval.
“Enough.” He lowered his practice blade, stepping back to give Zyxel space. “Your basics are improving. Tomorrow, we add Ryzen. The three of us will run combination drills until we can move as a unit.”
Zyxel’s chest heaved with exertion, sweat glistening on his warm brown skin. His newly formed muscles trembled with fatigue, but his eyes burned with something that looked almost like gratitude.
Almost.
“And if Ryzen refuses?”
“He won’t.” Kaede moved toward the door, his own muscles burning pleasantly from the exercise. “He needs this as much as you do. Maybe more.”
Kaede watched the male who stood in the center of his war room, wearing a form that felt like borrowed skin, dressed similarly to him, but fighting to make it his own.
