The trees thinned just enough for the sky to open above them—a pale, washed-out blue over a clearing of torn earth and old stone. Someone had fought here long before them; shallow craters, split rocks, and blackened scars marked the ground.
Lyf planted his heels in the dirt like this was his favorite place in the world.
"Not bad," he said, turning in a slow circle. "Plenty of space to break you without breaking the Academy's walls. Efficient."
Orin rolled his shoulders, blades resting in the crossed sheaths on his back. His dual cleaver-blades—short sword length, broad and thick like butcher knives—knocked lightly against each other as he moved. He'd strapped them high enough to clear his hips, low enough to draw in one motion.
Kahn-Ra sat a little ways off on a flat stone. In this smaller form he was compact, black-furred, gold-eyed—almost housecat sized, if housecats were carved from shadow and quiet threat. His tail flicked once, slow and deliberate.
You look tense, Kahn-Ra's thought brushed across Orin's mind, cool and amused.
I look ready, Orin answered, jaw tight.
"Hm." Lyf's gaze slid back to him. "Stretch more. I can hear your joints complaining from here."
"You can't hear my joints," Orin said.
Lyf sniffed. "You're right. I can smell them. That's worse."
He grinned while he said it—open, easy, the kind of grin Orin usually associated with people about to do something reckless.
Orin exhaled slowly and went back into his stretches. He dug his boots into the dirt, legs spread, spine rolling as he loosened his back and shoulders. His wounds from the evaluation had healed, but faint aches still whispered under the skin, a memory of every hit.
Lyf watched with a lazy, half-lidded look that didn't match the sharpness in his eyes.
"First rule," Lyf said. "I am not here to turn you into a hero. I am here to stop you from dying stupidly and taking everyone near you along for the ride. Understand?"
Orin's jaw flexed. "Yeah. I understand."
"Second rule." Lyf's grin sharpened. "I am funnier than you. Don't fight that one. You'll lose."
He's not wrong, Kahn-Ra noted.
Traitor, Orin thought.
Lyf clapped his hands once. "Weapons out."
Orin drew both cleavers in a clean cross-motion—right hand over his left shoulder, left over his right. Steel whispered free of leather. The blades caught the light, edges nicked from real use, not training dummies.
There had been a time their weight comforted him. Today, they felt… incomplete. Like they were only half of what he should be bringing to a fight.
Lyf rolled his wrists. Bones shifted under his skin—not just the normal flex of tendon and joint, but a fluid rearranging, as if something beneath wasn't entirely bone to begin with. His fingers lengthened a little, nails darkening, then snapped neatly back into their human shape.
He caught Orin watching and waggled his fingers.
"Chimera perks," he said lightly. "You'll get your own tricks. For now, we fix the basics."
"Basics?" Orin frowned. "I've been fighting since I could lift a blade."
"And every bad habit you've learned is shouting at me," Lyf said. "You fight like a merc raised in back alleys and border fields—no insult to the Fangs, that way kept you alive, but it's built on desperation, not design."
The mention of the Fangs put a slow ache behind Orin's ribs. He swallowed it.
"What's wrong with how I fight?" he asked.
Lyf tilted his head. "We'll let your body answer that."
He snapped his fingers.
The ground to Orin's right erupted.
Not with flame or lightning, but with motion—stone and soil jutted upward, shaping into a human-sized figure in the space of a breath. It had no face, no details, just a thick outline of a person. Another rose to his left. A third behind him.
Orin twisted, blades up, heart jolting. He hadn't felt any build-up. No chant. No drawn sigil. Just—there.
"Don't worry," Lyf said. "These won't kill you. Much."
They moved.
The stone-shapes lunged in staggered rhythm—one sweeping low at his legs, one reaching high for his shoulders, one stabbing straight for his chest.
Orin's body reacted before his thoughts caught up. He stepped in instead of back, knocking the low sweep aside with the flat of his left cleaver and pivoting to let the high reach slide past. His right blade cut toward the "throat" of the center figure—
Steel hit stone.
The construct didn't flinch. It absorbed the blow and kept driving forward, arms swinging like carved clubs.
Orin snarled under his breath and twisted away. Dust sprayed. A heavy shoulder checked his side where the third figure had looped around behind him.
He hit the ground, rolled, came up in a knee-slide and slashed at the stone legs rushing after him. The left cleaver bit deep enough to catch; he wrenched, using the trapped blade as a hook, boot kicking through the joint.
That one crumbled.
No time to enjoy it. The remaining two were already on him, one throwing a straight punch, the other hooking wide.
He ducked the hook. The straight blow clipped his shoulder hard enough to jar his teeth.
Your feet are late, Kahn-Ra's voice touched his thoughts. You move where the strikes are, not where they will be.
Orin rolled under the next swing, dust grinding into his palms. He pushed off, driving between them, both blades crossing in an upward cut that split the nearer figure from hip to opposite shoulder.
It fell apart, stone chunks thudding around him.
The last construct hesitated—a heartbeat, no more.
Orin stepped in and carved its legs out from under it, then brought his right cleaver down in a brutal overhead chop that shattered the rest.
Stone scattered across the clearing.
Breathing hard, Orin dropped his blades to his sides. Sweat beaded at his hairline.
Lyf lounged against a half-buried chunk of rock, arms folded, expression mild.
"Not terrible," he said. "Your reactions are honest. Your feet are lazy. You wait until you see the threat before you commit. That's how people with normal bodies fight."
Orin scowled. "And what's wrong with—"
"Your body isn't normal," Lyf cut in, flicking two fingers toward him. "Your bones, your blood, your breathing—none of it. You move like you're asking your power for permission instead of assuming it's there."
Orin thought of the Vrexus. Of his body moving without asking him anything. His stomach turned.
"I don't want to assume it," he muttered.
Lyf's eyes flicked, catching the crack in his voice.
"There it is," he said quietly. "The fear line."
He pushed off the rock and strolled closer, barefoot prints pressing into the dirt. Somehow he looked even more relaxed up close—but Orin could feel the tension coiled underneath, like a blade sheathed under cloth.
"Again," Lyf said. "No constructs this time."
He blurred.
One heartbeat he was standing in front of Orin. The next, his stance dropped, his center of gravity sliding, limbs lengthening by fractions. His spine loosened into a strange, fluid curve. He didn't become anything else entirely—but he no longer moved like any human Orin had seen.
He came in fast.
Orin barely saw the shift before Lyf's knuckles tapped his cheek. Not hard. Just precise.
"Dead," Lyf said.
Orin swung on reflex, both blades crossing in a harsh slash. Lyf flowed back, torso bending in an angle that should've been impossible, feet light. His body moved like water poured around rock.
Then he was close again.
Two fingers wrapped around Orin's wrist.
Pain flared hot and sharp.
Orin hissed and dropped his right blade.
Lyf twisted his arm just enough to lock the joint, then released before it did damage.
"Your grip is solid," Lyf said, stepping out of range. "Your commitment is good. Your openings are huge. Stop swinging like every strike needs to remove a head. You're not an axe. You're something worse."
He's right, Kahn-Ra said. You go for endings on every exchange.
"I'm not trying to be wasteful," Orin snapped, temper stirring. "I'm trying to end it before I… before it gets ugly."
Lyf studied him for a moment.
"What's 'ugly'?" he asked quietly.
You saw it in the evaluation, Orin thought. You watched it happen.
He didn't answer.
Lyf let the silence hang, then clapped once, breaking it apart.
"Good," he said. "We've confirmed you can be knocked around without breaking. Now we teach your body something new."
"New how?" Orin asked.
Lyf's grin came back, crooked and bright. "We start by reminding you you're allowed to be dangerous on purpose."
He moved again—still fast, but this time his blows were wide and readable. Orin blocked with his remaining blade, ducked, slid aside. Lyf alternated between his normal shape and small shifts—an arm lengthened here, a shoulder joint folding deeper than it should, a spine bending almost snake-like.
Orin's muscles burned as he tried to track those angles, as he learned to predict movements that shouldn't exist. Twice Lyf swept his legs out from under him. Once he chopped the back of Orin's neck with the edge of his hand—not enough to drop him, but enough to remind him the opening was there.
Every time, Orin hit the dirt, teeth clenched, and forced himself back up.
The rhythm settled into something simple and brutal: move, get hit, adjust, move again.
By the time Lyf finally raised a hand to signal a halt, Orin's shirt clung to his back with sweat. Dust streaked his arms and jaw. His chest dragged in air like he'd been sprinting uphill.
But he was still on his feet.
Kahn-Ra hadn't moved from his stone, but his eyes tracked every shift.
Better, the Monari said. You fall less like prey, more like something that intends to get up and take a piece back.
Lyf huffed a quiet laugh, watching Orin's tired but stubborn posture. "Our critic approves. That's rare."
Orin let out a slow breath. His legs shook, but there was a grim satisfaction under the exhaustion.
"Oh," Lyf added, as if remembering something small. "You did well."
The simple praise landed heavier than Orin expected.
"We're done beating you around for today," Lyf said. "Drink. Eat. Then we talk."
—
They made a loose camp near the edge of the clearing—no tents, just a small fire in a ring of old stones and a couple of blankets over the flattest patches of earth. The trees around them formed a half-circle, the canopy breaking the late light into streaks of gold and green.
Lyf coaxed the fire up with practiced ease, striking flint and kindling until embers caught. Orin sat across from him, one knee up, forearm resting on it, the other leg stretched out. His cleavers lay at his side, hilts turned where his hands could find them without thinking.
Kahn-Ra had claimed a spot near Orin's hip, tail curled around his paws, gaze flicking between them and the treeline.
Lyf skewered strips of dried meat and chopped root over the flame, humming something tuneless. His earlier inhuman fluidity was folded away again, hidden under a relaxed slouch and an easy grin.
"You're quiet," Lyf said at last, glancing across the fire.
"I thought you liked that," Orin said. "Less 'hero speeches.'"
"Oh, I do," Lyf replied. "But you've got that far-off look. The one that says you're not in this clearing anymore."
Orin stared into the flames.
"I killed them," he said, voice low. "The Fangs. I know they'd say it wasn't just me. That the Vrexus was too strong. That the blood pulled me. That they chose that life. I know all of that. It doesn't change what my hands did."
Lyf was quiet long enough to turn the skewers once.
"When you changed against the Vrexus," he asked eventually, "what did it feel like? Inside?"
Orin's chest tightened. He forced the words out anyway.
"Like pressure," he said. "Like something locked behind my ribs finally broke loose. Like I wasn't the one moving. I was just… watching from somewhere far away while it used me. The anger was simple. Everything else felt… distant."
"Did you want your family dead?" Lyf asked.
"No." The answer came out raw. "Never."
Lyf nodded once. "Good. That line matters."
He handed Orin a skewer. The meat was hot enough to sting his fingers, but he took it. The simple act of chewing, of feeling something warm hit his stomach, did more to steady him than he wanted to admit.
"I'm not here to tell you it wasn't your fault," Lyf said. "I'm here to tell you it doesn't have to repeat. You are dangerous. That part isn't up for debate. You can either spend your life pretending you're not and hurt people by accident… or you can learn exactly what you are and choose where that danger lands."
Orin stared at the food in his hand. The words settled like stones in his chest—awkward, heavy, true.
He's irritating, Kahn-Ra said. But he speaks plainly.
"You both talk too much," Orin muttered.
Lyf smirked. "That's the other rule, by the way. I will annoy you into getting stronger. Consider it a sacred duty."
"You and Lox have a lot of sacred duties," Orin said dryly.
"We collect them," Lyf replied.
The corner of Orin's mouth twitched despite everything.
The sky slowly darkened. Crickets began to thread their song through the spaces between the crackle of the fire.
By the time they finished eating, exhaustion had sunk past Orin's muscles into his bones. Training, travel, grief—they all dragged at him at once. He lay back on his blanket, folding one arm under his head, watching the smoke drift up through the branches.
Kahn-Ra padded over, circled once, then settled near his ribs, a steady warmth against his side.
Sleep, the Monari said. Your body will rebuild while you lie there making uncomfortable noises.
"That's… encouraging," Orin mumbled, eyes already heavy.
He drifted off to the soft crackle of the fire and Lyf's low humming.
—
The night was deep when Kahn-Ra opened his eyes.
The fire had burned low, reduced to red coals and a faint glow. Orin's breathing was slow and even, his face turned slightly toward the side, curls shadowing his brow. His scent, for once, wasn't lined with fear or anger. Just fatigue.
Kahn-Ra rose soundlessly and padded away from the blankets, slipping between two trees. The underbrush parted around him like it knew better than to get in his way.
He did not like sleeping too deeply on unfamiliar ground. There had been too many centuries where that mistake had cost lives.
He'd only gone a dozen paces when a second presence brushed his awareness. Not intruding—just… there.
"Evening, little shadow," Lyf's voice drifted from the dark.
Kahn-Ra stopped.
Lyf stepped out from behind a broad-trunked tree, hands in his pockets, shoulders loose. He wore the same human face he'd shown Orin, but his eyes were clearer now, the joking glaze stripped away.
"You hide well," Lyf said. "But not from someone who grew up watching your kind hunt."
Kahn-Ra's fur lifted along his spine. His aura surged—not fully, but enough that the air thickened around them, sound pressing flat.
His tail lashed once.
Shadows answered.
They rose from the ground around them, pulling inward as if dragged by an unseen tide. The faint moonlight bleeding through the canopy dimmed; the distant chitter of insects faded to a muffled hum. In the span of a breath, a loose dome of darkness settled over the small patch of forest where they stood.
Kahn-Ra and Lyf were at its center.
Beyond the edge of that shadow shell, Orin slept on, undisturbed.
Lyf's brows arched slightly. "A privacy trick," he said softly. "Didn't expect less."
Who are you? Kahn-Ra's thought cut across the newly muffled air.
Lyf's smile widened—not the careless one he wore in front of Orin, but something older, sharper.
"I was wondering when you'd stop pretending to be just a quiet cat," he said. "You won't remember my face. Humans change. Minari change more. But you might remember my master's name."
He crouched smoothly, forearms resting on his knees, bringing his eyes more level with Kahn-Ra's.
"Zurath," he said. "The Faceless Chameleon. I was his apprentice."
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then the earth seemed to hum faintly under Kahn-Ra's paws.
Memories surged—moonlit snow, a taller form wrapped in shifting patterns, a laughing voice in a war council, a smaller chimera-shadow trailing behind a larger presence. A kitten-sized tiger being lifted by the scruff, set beside a campfire with a dry, amused, watch him, rumbling behind.
Kahn-Ra straightened, small frame holding an immense stillness.
You… The thought rippled outward, shaken. You were a whelp.
"Time does that," Lyf said. "Stretches us out. Sharpens the teeth. Ruins perfectly good nicknames."
Kahn-Ra's eyes narrowed. Zurath is dead.
Something passed through Lyf's face—too quick for most to see, not quick enough for a predator.
"He is gone from your world," Lyf said quietly. "Not from mine. The things he taught me are why I'm here. Why I recognized the flavor of that boy's power the moment I laid eyes on him."
Kahn-Ra's fur settled halfway, then rose again. The shadow dome around them breathed with his aura, edges flexing, then holding.
So you know what he is, Kahn-Ra said.
"I know enough," Lyf replied. "Enough to see that if he keeps treating what's in him like a curse, it'll become exactly that. And enough to know that if the wrong people figure out what he can really do, they'll either lock him in a box… or carve him apart trying to make more."
Golden eyes burned in the dark.
You speak boldly for someone who hid his scent from me, Kahn-Ra said.
Lyf chuckled under his breath. "I've had a long time to practice hiding from things scarier than you."
The dome tightened for a heartbeat, shadows clinging closer, as if testing his claim.
You think you are beyond me, chimera? Kahn-Ra's thought was silk over stone.
"I think we're on the same side," Lyf said. "At least about him."
He tipped his chin back toward the camp, where the dim glow of the embers barely brushed the edge of the shadow shell.
"I'm not here to claim him," Lyf went on. "Or to forge him into some obedient weapon for generals to throw at problems. Lox sent me to evaluate him. I decided he's worth training the right way."
He tapped his chest with two fingers.
"Whatever Zurath was to you," he added, voice low, "he made one point very clear: strength without control is just an expensive way to die. I'd prefer our boy avoid that."
They held each other's gaze in the dim, padded silence of the dome.
If he suspects what you are—what I am— Kahn-Ra warned, he will start asking about his blood. About his father.
Lyf's expression softened in a way that had nothing to do with jokes.
"He will," he said. "One day. And when that day comes, I'm not the one who tells him. My job is simpler—make sure he survives long enough to hear it, and strong enough that the answer doesn't break him in half."
For the first time, the shadow shell seemed to ease. The muffled sounds of the forest crept faintly back around the edges, like the world clearing its throat.
Kahn-Ra's tail twitched. If you fail him, he said, I will not forget whose banner you stand under.
Lyf's grin came back, sharp and bright.
"If I fail him," he said, "you can take a limb. I'll even let you choose which."
Kahn-Ra snorted—a quiet huff that stirred the shadow at his paws.
The dome thinned, its darkness bleeding back into the trees. Moonlight and insect-song returned in layers. In a few breaths, there was no sign it had ever been there at all.
"For what it's worth," Lyf added, straightening, "Zurath would be glad you were the one who found his son."
Kahn-Ra didn't answer.
But when he padded back to camp and curled once more against Orin's side, he settled a little closer than before, nose almost resting against the boy's ribs.
—
Orin surfaced once in the night, half-dreaming. He felt a warm weight against his side, the steady rhythm of another heartbeat, the faint scent of wild fur and clean air.
His hand twitched, fingers brushing Kahn-Ra's back.
For a moment, something inside him eased.
Then sleep dragged him under again.
Tomorrow would hurt. Lyf would make sure of it.
But under the watch of a chimera in human skin and a black-furred tiger wearing a smaller shape, Orin Slain slept—unaware that both had already decided to do the same quiet, stubborn thing:
Teach a new kind of monster how to live with himself.