By the end of the first week under Tzairek, Keizeix had learned something important.
He had absolutely underestimated the man.
Not slightly.
Not reasonably.
Completely.
One arm.
Five legs.
A missing pinky.
Fresh wounds that would make sending him onto an active battlefield nearly suicidal.
And Keizeix still hadn't come close to defeating him.
Tzairek stood in the center of the training courtyard.
"Again."
Keizeix exhaled.
"You're beginning to sound like Shirespoke."
"Insult me again and I'll make the next lesson longer."
Keizeix raised his sword.
"Definitely Shirespoke."
Tzairek moved.
Keizeix responded immediately.
A short burst of Shadow Mist appeared across Tzairek's line of sight.
Not a cloud.
Not anymore.
Keizeix shifted sideways while the darkness formed.
His sword came from the opposite direction.
Tzairek twisted.
The blade missed his chest.
One of Tzairek's remaining legs snapped upward.
Keizeix blocked it with the flat of his wooden sword.
Impact traveled through both arms.
He rotated with it.
Another patch of darkness formed low across the ground.
Tzairek couldn't see which legs Keizeix was moving.
Keizeix anchored three.
Rotated.
Thrust.
Tzairek leaned aside.
The wooden blade passed beneath his remaining arm.
Then Tzairek's shoulder crashed into Keizeix's chest.
Keizeix stumbled.
He recovered before falling.
That alone was progress.
Tzairek attacked again.
Keizeix slipped backward.
Shadow formed between them.
Tzairek stopped.
Keizeix smiled.
He had finally learned not to always use the mist as a hiding place.
Sometimes it was simply a wall that lasted half a second.
Half a second could be enough.
Keizeix moved left.
Then changed direction before leaving the shadow.
Tzairek anticipated the first movement.
Not the second.
Keizeix's blade tapped his side.
Silence.
Keizeix froze.
Tzairek looked down.
Then at him.
Keizeix slowly smiled.
"I hit you."
"You touched me."
"That sounds suspiciously like hitting you."
"It isn't."
"I feel like you're changing definitions because you're losing."
Tzairek moved.
Keizeix saw nothing except a blur.
A leg swept his support out from underneath him.
He hit the stone.
Tzairek's remaining hand stopped beside his throat.
"Dead."
Keizeix stared upward.
"Petty."
"Educational."
---
The days became a cycle.
Wake.
Eat.
Train.
Get beaten.
Eat again.
Train again.
Get beaten differently.
Sleep.
Repeat.
But the defeats changed.
At first Tzairek had dismantled him almost immediately.
Now Keizeix could force exchanges.
Five breaths.
Ten.
Sometimes longer.
Tzairek still won.
Always.
But Keizeix had begun making him work for it.
His swordsmanship continued improving.
Shirespoke had taught him structure.
Tzairek forced him to connect that structure with everything else.
Silk became part of footwork.
A strand around a training post could alter Keizeix's direction unexpectedly.
A quick anchor could stop his momentum without wasting three legs.
Shadow Mist became part of the sword rather than an ability used before the sword.
Even his eight-legged body became less divided in his mind.
No more:
Sword.
Legs.
Silk.
Shadow.
They were beginning to become one fighting style.
Tzairek noticed.
He didn't praise him.
Naturally.
Instead, on the ninth morning, he said:
"You're less embarrassing."
Keizeix stared.
"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Then your standards are poor."
---
Halfway through the second week, Tzairek changed the lesson again.
"No sword."
Keizeix looked at the weapon in his hands.
"What?"
"Put it down."
Keizeix reluctantly set the wooden sword against the wall.
Tzairek stood across from him.
"Shadow only."
Keizeix frowned.
"How am I supposed to beat you without a weapon?"
"You aren't."
"Wonderful."
"Your goal is to touch my shoulder."
Keizeix stared.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
He remembered the first time Tzairek had said something similar.
That had ended badly.
Keizeix lowered himself.
"Fine."
Shadow burst.
He moved.
Tzairek shifted.
Keizeix's hand reached through the darkness.
Empty air.
Tzairek appeared beside him and slapped the back of his head.
"Dead."
"That wasn't the goal."
"It became the goal when you failed the first one."
Again.
Keizeix produced a small patch of darkness.
Tzairek ignored it.
Keizeix used another.
Then a third.
Too predictable.
Tzairek never lost him.
"You're placing shadow where you want me to look," Tzairek said.
"That's generally the idea."
"No."
Tzairek tapped one leg against the ground.
"You're telling me where the trick is."
Keizeix frowned.
Tzairek continued.
"A shadow appearing for no reason is information."
That landed.
Keizeix thought about it.
Every time he created Shadow Mist, he did it somewhere useful.
Which meant an experienced opponent could assume the shadow itself mattered.
It concealed movement.
An attack.
A direction.
Something.
Keizeix looked toward the courtyard.
"So make useless shadows."
"Sometimes."
"That's stupid."
"Only if your opponent knows they're useless."
Keizeix smiled.
"I like that."
"I assumed you would."
---
The next hour became considerably stranger.
Keizeix produced shadow behind Tzairek.
Then attacked from the front.
Shadow to the left.
Move right.
Shadow above.
Do nothing.
Mist around his own legs.
Remain perfectly still.
Tzairek still beat him.
But now he hesitated occasionally.
Tiny pauses.
Barely visible.
Keizeix began learning something beyond concealment.
Manipulation.
He wasn't simply hiding what he did.
He was creating information.
False information.
A patch of shadow could suggest movement where none existed.
A sudden darkening could make an opponent instinctively guard a side Keizeix had no intention of attacking.
A thin trail could look like the beginning of a larger cloud.
Keizeix started experimenting.
He pulled Shadow Mist into narrower shapes.
Strips.
Short walls.
Dense patches.
Thin veils.
He discovered he could make one section thicker than another.
Tzairek struck him across the ribs whenever concentration made him slow.
But the possibilities multiplied.
By the end of the day, Keizeix's Shadow Mist looked less like a cloud.
More like something responding to intention.
That night he couldn't stop thinking about it.
---
Three days later, he finally believed he had Tzairek.
Not hoped.
Believed.
They had been fighting for nearly two minutes.
Keizeix's sword moved smoothly.
His body followed.
No wasted leg movements.
No overcommitted strikes.
Shadow appeared and vanished in small bursts around them.
Tzairek had avoided everything.
Until Keizeix saw the opening.
He fired silk low.
Tzairek stepped over it.
Expected.
Shadow erupted behind him.
Tzairek shifted forward.
Expected.
Keizeix rotated around his anchored legs.
His sword cut from the right.
Tzairek moved left.
Exactly where Keizeix wanted him.
A second silk strand tightened across that escape route.
Tzairek stopped.
Keizeix's eyes widened.
*Got you.*
There was nowhere to go.
Sword on one side.
Silk on the other.
Shadow behind.
Keizeix committed.
Then Tzairek disappeared.
Not moved.
Disappeared.
Keizeix's sword cut through empty darkness.
His mind stopped.
A voice came from directly behind him.
"Dead."
Something touched the back of his neck.
Keizeix froze.
Not metaphorically.
His entire body locked.
A pressure crashed over him.
For one impossible instant, the courtyard felt heavier.
Air thickened.
His legs trembled.
His lungs refused to fill completely.
Every instinct screamed at him.
Danger.
Run.
Don't move.
Submit.
His skin broke into cold sweat.
Tzairek stood behind him.
One hand resting lightly against his neck.
Shadow curled around his remaining legs.
Not Shadow Mist exactly.
Something tighter.
Cleaner.
More obedient.
Keizeix swallowed.
"You..."
Tzairek removed his hand.
The pressure vanished.
Keizeix nearly stumbled forward.
He turned.
"You can use shadows."
"Yes."
Keizeix stared.
"You waited this entire time to tell me?"
"You didn't ask."
"That's a terrible answer."
"It's accurate."
Keizeix looked at the darkness around Tzairek's legs.
"You disappeared."
"I moved through the shadow you were so kind as to put behind me."
Keizeix stared at his own fading mist.
Then slowly closed his eyes.
"I helped you beat me."
"Yes."
"Fantastic."
Tzairek almost smiled.
Keizeix opened his eyes again.
"But that wasn't only shadow."
Tzairek's expression changed.
"Good."
Keizeix rubbed the back of his neck.
"When you appeared behind me..."
He hesitated.
"It felt like the entire courtyard pressed down."
Tzairek nodded.
"Pressure."
"Magic?"
"Not exactly."
Tzairek lowered himself slightly.
"The stronger a being becomes, the harder it becomes to completely hide what they are."
Keizeix listened.
"Power has presence."
Tzairek gestured toward him.
"Most of the time you feel only fragments of it. Instinct. Unease. The sensation that something nearby is dangerous."
Keizeix remembered Vaelcor.
The Epic Lord Tier Breaker beetle.
Even Est—
His thoughts stopped before the name ever came near his mouth.
He kept listening.
Tzairek continued.
"With training, that presence can be deliberately pushed outward."
Keizeix frowned.
"To scare someone?"
"At first."
Tzairek stepped closer.
"A stronger fighter can project enough pressure to make a weaker one hesitate."
Another step.
"Freeze."
Another.
"Forget to breathe."
Keizeix remembered his body locking.
"And if the difference is large enough?"
Tzairek looked at him.
"The pressure stops feeling emotional."
He raised his remaining hand.
"It becomes physical."
Keizeix's eyes narrowed.
"Like gravity."
"Similar."
Tzairek allowed a fraction of that pressure to return.
Keizeix immediately felt it.
Weight across his shoulders.
Nothing compared with before.
But unmistakable.
"At extreme differences," Tzairek said, "a sufficiently powerful being can force weaker creatures to their knees without touching them."
The pressure vanished.
Keizeix breathed out.
He suddenly understood several encounters differently.
That feeling around truly powerful beings.
The instinctive certainty that fighting them was wrong.
He'd always assumed it was merely fear.
It wasn't.
Or not entirely.
Power itself could announce the difference.
Tzairek studied him.
"Your mistake was believing you had me because you controlled what you could see."
Keizeix looked at the shadows.
"And you controlled what I couldn't."
"Better."
Keizeix picked up his sword.
"Again."
Tzairek raised an eyebrow.
"You're shaking."
Keizeix looked at his hand.
He was.
Cold sweat still covered his back.
His instincts were still screaming at him to stay away from Tzairek.
Keizeix tightened his grip.
"Then I need to get used to it."
Tzairek watched him for several seconds.
Then nodded.
"Good answer."
---
The next several days hurt.
Tzairek began applying controlled pressure during training.
Never as much as the first reveal.
Enough.
Keizeix had to move while every instinct told him not to.
Swing while his shoulders felt heavier.
Maintain his guard while his breathing shortened.
Use Shadow Mist while concentration fought against fear.
At first his performance collapsed.
Tzairek beat him worse than he had during their first days together.
Then Keizeix adapted.
Not completely.
But enough.
He began recognizing the pressure as something separate from actual danger.
His body could be afraid.
His mind could still act.
Sword up.
Breathe.
Anchor.
Shadow.
Move.
Again.
Pressure.
Sword.
Mist.
Step.
Again.
Something inside him began changing.
Keizeix couldn't explain it.
Not yet.
But after one particularly brutal session, he sat alone near the edge of the courtyard and felt something deep within his core.
Not pain.
Not fullness.
Pressure.
Different from Tzairek's.
Internal.
Waiting.
He placed one hand against his chest.
The sensation faded.
Keizeix stared at nothing for a long moment.
He knew that feeling.
Not exactly.
But enough.
Something was approaching.
---
Late that night, Keizeix sat alone in his room.
No sword.
No armor.
No Shadow Mist.
He simply breathed.
Meditation had never been his favorite thing.
Too quiet.
Too much sitting still.
But tonight he needed quiet.
He closed his eyes.
Focused inward.
His core pulsed.
Once.
Again.
He felt the strength he'd accumulated since evolution.
The battles before it.
The new body.
Sword training.
Shadow manipulation.
Tzairek's pressure.
His own attempts to resist it.
Everything seemed to press toward the same invisible point.
Keizeix breathed slowly.
There.
Again.
That sensation.
A boundary.
Not reached.
Not broken.
But close enough that he could finally feel it.
His next step.
Heroic Birthed.
Keizeix opened his eyes.
The room remained dark.
Nothing had changed.
Not yet.
He smiled faintly.
"Getting close."
Then he closed his eyes again.
And continued meditating.