They walked until the academy disappeared behind trees and hillrolls, until the stone paths thinned into game trails and the air smelled more like damp bark and wild things than chalk dust and iron.
Orin's shoulders still ached from yesterday.
Not the bone-deep agony of broken ribs or shattered muscle—those days were behind him—but the heavy soreness of someone whose teacher thought "warm-up" meant "let me see how close I can take you to collapse."
Lyf strolled ahead, hands laced behind his head like this was a lazy afternoon instead of another lesson in "not dying." His long light-brown hair lay tied back today, swinging between his shoulder blades as he walked. The gray skin of his current form caught stray light through leaves, making him look like something half-carved from dusk.
Kahn-Ra padded at Orin's side in his bobcat guise—compact, black-furred, tail flicking with quiet annoyance at twigs that dared brush him.
You walk like someone who got flattened by a carriage, Kahn-Ra said to Orin. Again.
Orin grunted. Feel like it too.
You heal fast. Stop whining in your skull. It echoes.
He almost smiled. Almost.
His legs did feel better than they should, considering Lyf had run him through footwork drills until his calves shook and his vision went fuzzy. The small tears in his shoulders from yesterday's Rendmaw Gorgolin fight had knit overnight into nothing more than tender lines.
Healing too quickly for a normal Blood Hunter.
Just quickly enough to remind him that nothing about him was normal.
"Eyes up, kid," Lyf called over his shoulder without looking back. "The ground's not attacking you. Yet."
"I'm watching," Orin said.
"Mm. Try watching your own head while you're at it. You're making that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you're chewing on thoughts instead of breakfast."
Kahn-Ra snorted in his mind. He means the face you always have.
Orin ignored both of them and breathed in slow, steady pulls. The soreness faded a little with each step. The memory of teeth and blood did not.
He could still taste yesterday if he let himself.
The moment the Gorgolin's blood had hit his tongue, something had flared. His body had gone from tired to wired in a heartbeat, strength spiking so sharply it scared him more than the creature's jaws.
That wasn't an accident.
It wasn't just rage.
It was a trigger.
Today, Lyf wanted him to treat it like one.
"Review it," Lyf said, voice casual. "Start to finish. What did you feel right before everything jumped?"
They moved through a narrow gap between rocks, damp moss brushing their boots. Orin rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to speak instead of sink back into the half-silence he always defaulted to.
"It wasn't when it pinned me," he said. "That was just… panic. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. I only felt it when—"
"When you took a bite," Lyf finished. "Right. But I'm not talking about the blood yet. I'm asking about everything in your body at that moment. Your rhythm. Your headspace."
Orin frowned. "My headspace was 'don't get my throat ripped out.'"
"Underneath that." Lyf's tone stayed light. "You've gone feral once. You know what that feels like—empty and crowded at the same time. Was this the same?"
Orin shook his head almost before Lyf finished. "No. When I changed with the Vrexus… I wasn't there. Not really. This time…" He hesitated. "This time I was. I still knew who I was. It just felt like someone dropped oil on a fire I already had burning."
A good analogy, Kahn-Ra murmured. Disturbing, but good.
Lyf finally glanced back with a small, satisfied tilt to his mouth. "There it is. Blood as fuel, not as an on-switch. That lines up."
"Lines up with what?" Orin asked.
"With what you are," Lyf said. "And what I think you'll become, if you don't get yourself killed trying to be noble every second."
They left the rock pass and stepped into a wider clearing where the trees opened enough to let sky through—pale and high, wind slipping in thin, cool threads. The air felt different here.
Lighter.
Lyf stopped at the edge.
"Welcome to today's classroom," he said. "Lesson: what happens when you poke the dragon on purpose instead of by accident."
Orin's fingers brushed the handles of his cleavers. "So we're hunting again."
"Oh, absolutely." Lyf rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off dust. "You did well yesterday. Today we see if you can stay yourself while using what you grabbed."
He snapped his fingers once.
A faint ripple shivered through the clearing, like the air itself flinched.
Kahn-Ra's ears perked. Something's here.
Orin shifted his stance slightly, weight on the balls of his feet. "What kind of Monari?"
Lyf grinned. "A nimble one. Don't worry, it won't break you in half. Probably."
"That isn't comforting," Orin said.
"It wasn't meant to be."
The brush ahead rustled.
A shape stepped out of the branches—toeing along a low, bending trunk as easily as a squirrel but carrying far more menace.
The creature was about the size of a large hound, but that was where the similarity stopped. Its body was sleek and rangy, like a fox stretched by wind; fur lay flat and feathered along its sides in sharp-edged layers that shimmered with faint silver when it moved. Its limbs were long and thin, ending in narrow paws tipped with scythe-claws suited for perching on branches or slicing flesh.
Feathers—actual feathers—flared along its forelimbs and spine, patterned in smoky gray and pale white, as if clouds had gotten bored of floating and decided to grow teeth instead. A long tail trailed behind it, lined along the underside with blade-like quills that clicked softly with each sway.
Its eyes were narrow, pupils like slits of sky.
A stray breeze gusted through the clearing.
The Monari bent with it, almost sighing, like it had been born from that gust.
"Skyrazor Vulprax," Lyf said. "Two-star. Favors gliding rushes and slicing passes. Don't let it stay above you. Don't let it circle behind you twice."
Orin drew his cleavers, the familiar weight grounding him. "And your rules?"
Lyf's smile flattened into something less playful, more focused.
"Rule one: you don't bite it mid-fight. Not unless I shout that you're about to die. I want to see what you can do with your head and your training, not your teeth."
"Understood," Orin said.
"Rule two: you're allowed to use the traits you've already touched—nothing new. You've tasted Vrexus and Rendmaw Gorgolin now." Lyf tapped his own forearm. "So if you want a little extra burst, transform something. Arms, legs, whatever you can control. Just don't go beyond what you can pull back from."
"And rule three?" Orin asked.
Lyf nodded toward the Vulprax, which had begun to pace along the branch, tail whispering air.
"You don't look away from that thing unless you're emptying your lungs or bleeding out."
Kahn-Ra spoke to Orin, tone dry. Listen to him. For once he's being useful.
Orin rolled his wrists, blades flashing once in the light. He let his weight sink into his stance, knees loose. For a heartbeat, the memories threatened to rise—Vrexus claws, Sonny's last breath, earth over graves—but he pushed them down.
This wasn't that fight.
This wasn't that day.
He focused on what he had now.
Vrexus legs.
He didn't say it aloud. He didn't need to.
In his mind, he pictured the way the Vrexus moved when it hunted—the coil of its hindquarters, the spring-loaded power packed into thick muscle and tendon. He imagined that power sliding into his own limbs, not as some vague aura, but as a clear change.
His calves tightened, the tendons at the back of his knees drawing like bowstrings. A faint heat prickled along his shins. Underneath his pants, he felt his bones shift their alignment—just enough to change how his feet met the ground. To anyone looking, his stance only seemed to settle, weight balanced and ready.
To him, it felt like the earth had gotten closer.
He breathed once, steady.
"I'm ready," he said.
Lyf spread his hands. "Then class is in session."
The Skyrazor Vulprax leapt.
It didn't drop straight down—it jumped sideways into the air, claws raking a tree trunk, and then it glided. Wings that weren't quite wings flared along its sides as its feathered fur flattened, catching the thin currents.
It came at him in a slanting sweep, tail quills snapping with a crisp metallic note.
Orin moved.
The Vrexus in his legs answered before his conscious thought did. He pushed off, the ground exploding beneath his boots, and slid under the initial pass with a speed he wouldn't have had on his own. The Vulprax's tail snapped over him, a clean, cold whistle cutting the air.
He came up in a pivot, one cleaver flashing toward its hindleg.
The blade met resistance—not armor like the Gorgolin's stony plates, but tight, dense muscle. It cut. Not deep, but enough to draw a sharp cry and a spray of thin, hot blood.
The Vulprax twisted mid-glide, claws scraping a tree to launch itself higher instead of crashing. It circled, quick and wary now, keeping distance as it appraised its prey anew.
Orin's chest rose and fell, controlled. His ribs remembered what it was to be crushed. His body remembered landing wrong. Today he stayed light, kept his center low.
Kahn-Ra's voice brushed his thoughts. Better. You're hunting this time, not just surviving.
The Vulprax swooped again.
This time it fanned its feathered fur wide and spun, tail a bladed disk slicing toward him in a tight, horizontal arc.
Orin ducked the first bite of it, but the pass dragged a razor of wind across his cheek. A thin line of pain flared; warm wetness streaked down his face.
He didn't flinch.
Gorgolin arms, he thought.
He pictured the Rendmaw Gorgolin's thick forelimbs—the corded strength wrapped around them, built to shove and crush stone instead of just people. The memory of how it had felt under his hands when he bit it, the way its muscles bunched and resisted.
His forearms tightened. Muscles knotted under his skin, his sleeves pulling slightly from the sudden bulk. His grip on the cleavers went from strong to crushing.
The Vulprax came in for a lower pass, claws reaching for his shoulders.
He stepped into it.
Instead of dodging away, he drove forward, bringing both cleavers up in a crossing guard. The impact of its claws on his blades rattled his bones—but his newly reinforced arms held.
He shoved.
The force flung the Vulprax sideways mid-swoop, throwing off its line. It crashed through a thin sapling, snarling, and tumbled in an undignified roll across the dirt.
Orin followed.
Boots pounded the ground, Vrexus-borrowed drive launching him forward. The creature tried to push up, wings flickering, but he was already there.
He slashed once across its side—another shallow cut, but placed between feather and muscle.
It twisted and slashed back, claws raking across his thigh. Pain stabbed bright and immediate, but the cut wasn't crippling. Blood flowed, hot and sticky into his pants.
He gritted his teeth and stepped to the side instead of back, keeping pressure on its flank. One cleaver bit into its shoulder. The other hacked toward its tail.
The Vulprax coiled that long tail and whipped it low, forcing him to jump or lose his legs. The bladed quills cut a line across his boot as he hopped over, close enough to feel the wind they carved.
He landed badly, weight a little off. The creature scooted backward with an awkward, limping hop, buying space.
It panted now, sides heaving.
He wasn't doing much better. His thigh burned. Sweat slid down his spine. The Vrexus power in his legs thrummed, already starting to fray at the edges of his control.
He drew a long breath.
Pull it back, he thought.
He let go of the image of the Vrexus—released the memory of its hindquarters, the coil of its leap—and his legs settled back into his own. The world felt a fraction slower, heavier, but steadier too.
He didn't want to push too far and find the edge of control the wrong way.
You're learning, Kahn-Ra said. A miracle.
"Don't distract him," Lyf called lazily. "I like my students alive."
The Vulprax made a low, hate-filled sound and lunged again, this time staying closer to the ground. It zigzagged, paws barely touching earth, feinting left then darting right, tail flicking to cut off his retreat.
Orin met it head-on.
He didn't call on another full limb this time. Instead he reached for something smaller: the Gorgolin's grip. The way its claws had sunk into his shoulders and simply not let go.
His fingers tightened around the cleaver handles. For a brief heartbeat, his hands felt too big in their gloves, too strong.
As the Vulprax darted past, he stepped into its path and caught its foreleg with one hand, cleaver in the other.
The impact jarred his shoulder, but his grip held.
Using the Monari's own speed, he pivoted, dragged its limb down, and brought the cleaver across its exposed chest.
The blade sank halfway, ripping feather and flesh.
Hot blood splattered his arm, warm against the cool air.
The Vulprax shrieked, flailed, and tore itself free, stumbling sideways. Its glide broke entirely; one forelimb buckled when it tried to put weight on it.
Orin followed again, relentless now.
He didn't enjoy it.
But he understood it.
Two more steps. One more cut. End this clean.
He slipped around behind it as it tried to turn, drove his boot into the back of its knee joint, and knocked it flat. The creature crashed to the dirt with a strained sound, tail digging grooves into the ground as it thrashed.
He planted a knee into its shoulder to pin it.
The fight was over.
His lungs burned, thigh seared, but his mind was clear. The edges of his power hummed instead of roared. This time, he never felt that terrifying slide toward losing himself.
Lyf clapped slowly from the edge of the clearing.
"Not bad," he said. "You're almost starting to look like someone I'd bet on."
Orin kept breathing. He didn't lift his cleaver yet.
"What now?" he asked.
"Now," Lyf said, strolling closer, "we stop pretending we aren't here for the main course."
Kahn-Ra sat a short distance away, tail flicking once as he watched. His eyes stayed on Orin, not the dying Monari.
Do you understand what he's going to ask? Kahn-Ra said.
Orin already knew.
He looked down at the Vulprax. Its breaths came ragged. Shallow. Its eyes rolled toward him, full of animal pain and stubborn, fading fury.
His stomach tightened.
"It's already dying," he said. "I can finish it with one strike."
"You will," Lyf said. "But not before we test something." He crouched opposite Orin, rest forearms on his knees, expression unreadable. "Yesterday, you bit a monster because you thought you were going to die. Today, you're standing over one. You're in control. This is where we see whether that trigger is something you can choose."
Orin's jaw clenched. "You want me to eat it."
Lyf didn't flinch at the bitterness. "You needed the Gorgolin's death to stay alive. Now I want to know what happens when you take on a new beast without panic clawing at your spine." He tilted his head. "If you don't want more power, tell me now and I'll drop it."
Kahn-Ra said nothing.
Orin heard him anyway in the silence.
This is the path you're on, cub. Power with a price. You choose every step.
The Vulprax shuddered under his knee.
Orin swallowed, throat dry.
He thought of Hachi. Of the Fangs. Of never again standing helpless while someone he loved bled in front of him because he was afraid of what he might become.
"I want control," he said quietly. "More than I want to feel clean."
Lyf's eyes softened a fraction. "Then we start here."
He gestured with his chin. "First, end it properly. Quick."
Orin shifted his grip and drove one cleaver down, straight through the Vulprax's throat. The body jerked once, then went still. Blood pooled fast, steaming faintly in the cool air.
He waited until its chest stopped trying to rise.
Then he breathed out, shaky, and pulled the blade free.
"Now the fun part," Lyf said.
Orin shot him a flat look.
Lyf held up both hands. "Kidding. Mostly. Take a strip from somewhere with dense muscle. Shoulder, thigh, flank. Don't eat from the head or the organs. Too much risk, not enough benefit."
"You've done this before," Orin said.
Lyf's mouth twitched. "You're not the first monster I've trained. Just the most interesting."
Orin grimaced and set one cleaver aside. With the other, he cut into the Vulprax's flank, slicing a piece of muscle free. The flesh resisted, then gave way, warm and heavy in his hand.
The smell hit him—copper and wild, sharp and wrong and yet… not entirely unfamiliar anymore.
His stomach lurched.
"That's enough," Lyf said quietly. "Don't force more than you have to. Just enough to see if it takes."
Orin stared at the meat.
"Any last advice?" he asked.
"Yes," Lyf said. "Remember who you are before you take the bite. Not after."
Kahn-Ra spoke to Orin, tone low. If this becomes too much, I will remind you. But the choice is yours.
Orin inhaled through his nose, exhaled slowly through his mouth. He thought of Sonny's letter. Of Miss Sarah's steady hands. Of Wake and Starke back at Hachi, maybe sitting in some classroom wondering where he'd gone.
Then he lifted the strip of Vulprax flesh and bit down.
It was like chewing on a handful of warmed rope soaked in salt and metal. The texture fought his teeth, then gave; blood ran across his tongue, thicker than anything human.
He forced himself to chew, to swallow, even as his throat rebelled.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then everything did.
A lightness bloomed in his chest—not brightness, exactly, but a shift. His body didn't surge forward like when he tasted Gorgolin. He didn't feel stronger in the sense of raw force.
He felt… lighter.
Like someone had taken a stone off his shoulders without moving their hand.
His awareness of the air sharpened. The faintest breeze along his neck felt like fingers. The way the wind curled around his arms, over his back, tickled with intent.
He could almost feel where it would push if he leapt.
His legs wanted to move. Not just run—rise.
His balance tilted, then corrected, as if his body was subtly adjusting to a new center of gravity.
He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, riding it out. There was no roar this time, no risk of red haze flooding his mind. Just this strange, airy expansion under his ribs.
He opened his eyes.
Lyf watched him closely, all traces of joking gone. "Well?"
"It's… different," Orin said slowly. He groped for words. "The Gorgolin made everything heavier. Denser. Like my muscles were packed full and ready to burst. This feels like the opposite. Like I'm standing on a ledge and the air's trying to hold me up instead of just knocking me off."
Lyf nodded once, satisfied. "Good. That's what I hoped."
Kahn-Ra's voice came, thoughtful now. Skyrazor Vulprax. Nimble hunters. That matches.
"So it's not just more of the same," Orin said. "It's… flavors."
"That's one way to put it," Lyf said. "Remember what I told you, though. Once you've eaten from a Monari, that's it. The first bite's the only bite that gives you something new. You can't keep snacking on Skyrazor and expect to stack wings you don't have."
Orin snorted despite himself. "So new power means new prey."
"Exactly." Lyf stood, stretching his back with a casual groan. "You're building a collection, whether you like it or not. Vrexus for raw force, Rendmaw Gorgolin for brute grip and defense, Skyrazor Vulprax for movement and air sense. That's three distinct threads in the knot that is you now."
Orin looked down at his hands.
They looked normal. Human. Bronze skin, faint scars, a bit of dried blood.
But he knew better.
Underneath, there were pieces of monsters waiting for him to call them.
"Feels like I'm turning into a patchwork," he muttered.
"A patchwork that can outfight almost anything at your level once you stop flinching from what you are," Lyf said lightly. "Don't think of it as being less human. Think of it as being more you."
Kahn-Ra hummed in agreement. Your father would laugh himself sick if he saw you complaining about options.
Orin didn't rise to it.
He bent, wiped his blade clean on the dead Monari's side, and sheathed both cleavers.
"What now?" he asked. "We go back?"
"Soon," Lyf said. "We'll drag this thing somewhere the scavengers can have their feast, then maybe we talk about control methods. Visualization. Limits. How not to sprout a dozen limbs by accident when someone bumps your shoulder in the cafeteria."
Orin grimaced. "That would be a terrible first impression."
"Exactly." Lyf grinned again, some of the easy humor back. "So we'll work on it."
As they started the slow process of hauling the Skyrazor carcass toward a shallow ravine, Orin felt the strange lightness in his chest settle into something quieter. Not gone—never gone now—but folded, waiting.
He glanced down at Kahn-Ra.
"You're quiet," he said under his breath.
The bobcat glared up at him. I am thinking.
"Dangerous," Orin muttered.
Kahn-Ra flicked his tail against Orin's ankle. You are walking toward a future where every fight makes you less like the boy you were in that inn and more like the thing you were in that clearing. I am deciding whether you'll break under that, or bend.
"And?" Orin asked.
Kahn-Ra's eyes gleamed.
And I'm starting to suspect you might surprise even me.
Orin didn't answer.
But as they walked, feeling the subtle pull of the wind around his shoulders and the solid strength in his arms, he realized something that scared him as much as it steadied him.
He didn't want to go back to being just the boy in the inn.
Not anymore.
He wanted to become something that could stand between what he loved and the monsters of this world.
Even if that meant becoming a new kind of monster himself.