Nothing beats good food after three near-death experiences.
Eylin takes another bite of bread while scanning the room.
His eyes roam aimlessly, landing on a pair locked onto him.
A chill runs through his spine, and he drops his spoon.
Clang...
The sound startles Kaelin.
"Tsk... this bitch..." Kaelin stares at Sera, then back to Eylin, who is busy pretending to focus on his meal.
She looks back at the grinning Sera, her face twisting in irritation.
"Finish eating, young man..." she says, clearly annoyed.
"Yes, ma'am..." he replies with a mock salute, his eyes carefully avoiding Sera.
Sera notices. She licks her lips slightly.
"Interesting...." she grins, locking her hands behind her head, eyes fixed on the retreating figures of Eylin and Kaelin.
The cafeteria door closes behind them with a thud, sealing the noise inside.
As usual, Eylin falls a step behind, following her down the hallway.
"Explain what happened, and don't insult my intelligence..." she breaks the silence, eyes shifting toward him.
"Aaah... well... she was staring..." he begins.
"And..." Kaelin cuts him off.
"It felt like she was watching... observing prey... not the best feeling, actually," he answers sheepishly.
"Tsk... stay away from that bitch in the future..." she says, clearly irritated.
Eylin falls silent, making her mistake it for agreement.
In his mind, a different dialogue plays out.
He replays the scene of Sera circling him, noting her figure and... well, everything.
His mouth opens slightly.
"Naaaah... not staying away from her at all... hehehehe, seems like good times are ahead."
Silence falls between them, the sound of footsteps echoing behind.
His eyes wander along the walls, noting the paintings, chandeliers, runic lamps, and engraved runic statues.
The hallway screams wealth.
In the midst of his observations, a sense of crisis hits him.
His body halts.
Eyes go blank.
Something seems to be slipping from his grasp.
Kaelin notices the shift.
"What's wrong..." she asks the frozen boy.
Eylin snaps out of his trance, voice almost frantic.
"Training grounds....." he says, breathing heavily.
Noting the urgency behind his tone, she grabs his hand and teleports them from the hallway to an open field stretching as far as the eye can see.
Cold air hits his face, and he takes off in a frantic run to the center, dropping into a lotus position.
His eyes close.
Breathing stabilizes.
Mind clears.
The experience and enlightenment that were almost slipping away rush back in full force.
Pain hits him hard but—
It's lower than the void.
Kaelin observes him keenly, notebook in hand, noting everything.
Eylin's eyes snap open, black voids swirling in his irises.
He stands, taking a stance.
He inhales slowly.
The breath sinks deep.
Lower.
Into the abdomen.
Into the hips.
His spine lengthens.
Then—
He sinks.
Not into a martial stance.
Into something primal.
His knees bend deeply, spreading slightly outward.
His torso folds forward—not collapsed.
Coiled.
His chest hovers just above his thighs.
His arms hang loosely at first—
Then rise.
Elbows tuck close to his ribs.
Forearms angle forward.
Hands relax.
Fingers slightly curved.
Not fists.
Fangs.
Kaelin's eyes narrow.
This is new.
Eylin doesn't step forward.
He sways.
Barely.
A subtle side-to-side rhythm.
Not obvious.
But deliberate.
Weight shifts from left foot to right in tiny pulses.
Testing the ground.
Measuring balance.
His head tilts slightly—
Chin lowered.
Eyes fixed.
Unblinking.
Predatory.
He moves.
Not in straight lines.
In shallow arcs.
Sliding.
Gliding.
The grounded foot anchors.
The free foot draws quiet half-moons in the sand.
Never crossing too wide.
Never exposing center.
His shoulders roll subtly with each shift.
Like a body adjusting before a strike.
Then—
A flick.
His right hand darts forward.
Fast.
So fast the air snaps.
But it stops midway.
Retracts instantly.
Testing range.
He circles tighter.
Lower.
His hips coil inward.
Compression.
Compression.
Compression—
Strike.
His entire body uncoils in one violent, linear burst.
Not a wide punch.
Not a swing.
A thrust.
His shoulder drives first.
Elbow follows.
Forearm shoots straight toward an invisible throat.
Hips snap forward at the exact moment of extension.
Full-body alignment.
Minimal exposure.
He doesn't linger.
He retracts immediately.
Back into coil.
Back into low sway.
No flourish.
No follow-up combination.
Just reset.
Kaelin's pen stops moving.
That wasn't academy form.
That was lethal intent.
Eylin shifts again.
This time lower.
His left hand snakes downward in a sudden hook toward an imaginary knee.
Not to sweep.
To destabilize.
His right shoulder rolls over it in the same motion—
Simulated follow-up to the neck.
Two-phase strike.
Disable.
Finish.
He exhales sharply.
Short.
Controlled.
Then stillness.
Complete stillness.
Wind moves the sand around him.
He does not move.
Waiting.
A viper does not chase.
It lets the enemy step wrong.
His head tilts slightly.
And suddenly—
He pivots sharply sideways.
As if evading a downward strike.
His torso bends nearly parallel to the ground.
Spine fluid.
Then he lashes upward from below.
Short-range elbow thrust.
Devastating distance.
No wasted arc.
Just penetration and withdrawal.
Kaelin speaks quietly.
He answers without looking at her.
He shifts again.
Slow.
Circling.
Low.
A faint smile curves at the corner of his mouth.
Then—
He explodes forward again.
Faster this time.
Sand kicks backward in a sharp burst.
His strike stops inches from an imaginary opponent's face.
Perfect control.
Perfect alignment.
And for a split second—
His pupils narrow slightly.
Vertical.
Then normal again.
Kaelin notices.
She does not comment.
He straightens slowly.
Breathing steady.
Kaelin steps closer, boots pressing softly into disturbed sand.
She circles him slowly.
Not as a challenger.
As an examiner.
Up close, the damage is obvious.
Micro-tears along the ribs.
Bruising forming along the hip line.
Strain across the lower back.
His body isn't ready for what his mind is demanding.
"What was that, kid…" she asks quietly.
Not mocking.
Not impressed.
Curious.
Eylin rolls his shoulders once, wincing faintly.
"Something I'm working on."
She exhales lightly.
"Yes. I could tell." She scribbles a note. "It wasn't trained."
She looks up at him again.
"It was forced."
He smirks faintly.
"Adapted."
She tilts her head.
"Your body is lagging behind your intent," she says. "You're dragging flesh to keep up with insight."
He opens his mouth to respond—
Then stops.
Because something clicks.
His eyes sharpen.
"No," he murmurs.
"It's incomplete."
Kaelin's pen pauses mid-air.
"Incomplete how?"
"There is a reason why I'm here, little K..."
He starts pacing the disturbed circle he carved into the sand.
Retracing every step.
Replaying angles.
Reconstructing flow.
"It's missing extension," he mutters. "Missing territory control."
His hands move unconsciously as he thinks.
Tracing invisible arcs.
"I can provoke mistakes," he says. "I can destabilize."
He stops abruptly.
"But I can't seal the kill."
Kaelin's gaze narrows slightly.
Seal.
Not win.
Not spar.
Kill.
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration building.
"Fuck… I need my daggers."
That makes her still.
"And binding constructs."
Now that—
That makes her fully attentive.
"What are those?" she asks.
He doesn't answer. Instead—
He begins circling again, faster now.
Mind racing ahead of body.
"If the coil initiates the breach," he mutters, "then the dagger becomes the fang."
He demonstrates mid-thought.
Low coil—
Explosive thrust—
But instead of stopping—
His hand flicks outward as if releasing something.
Projectile trajectory.
Precision line.
Then immediate lateral shift.
"If the first strike forces retreat," he continues, "the binding seals the exit."
His fingers twitch in controlled patterns.
Arcane muscle memory surfacing.
Not full spellcasting.
Just skeletal structure.
"The enemy defends high against the thrust," he murmurs.
"So I bind low."
He steps sharply to the side.
Imaginary tether locking an ankle.
Pull.
Collapse.
His body rotates into finishing alignment.
Kaelin watches silently.
He isn't fantasizing.
He's engineering.
"This isn't a style," he breathes.
"It's a trap."
That's when she understands.
The low circling.
The micro-feints.
The single explosive thrust.
It's not about striking.
It's about forcing one mistake.
Then punishing it irreversibly.
"You designed it around armed engagement," she says quietly.
He nods once.
"Daggers extend the reach without sacrificing coil."
"And the bindings?"
He smiles faintly.
"They make running irrelevant."
Wind moves across the field.
His pupils flicker again—
Not fully vertical.
But sharper.
Focused.
Kaelin closes her notebook slowly.
"You don't think like a trainee."
He glances at her.
"No."
She studies him carefully.
"What do you call it?"
He looks down at the circle his feet carved into the sand.
At the coiled footprints.
At the sudden linear gouge where he launched forward.
His voice is calm when he answers.
"Viper Doctrine."