First Strike

It had been a year since he began training at the facility. Only he and Commander Darian were present. There was no time for distractions, his days were consumed by relentless drills designed to prepare him for survival in extreme scenarios. From hand-to-hand combat to underwater survival, every aspect of his training was punishing. He was taught to endure when stripped of his abilities, ensuring he could adapt and fight under the most desperate conditions.

Now, at just 12 years old, his body bore the marks of relentless discipline. Over the past year, his physique had transformed into a finely tuned instrument, honed by brutal routines that left no room for weakness. Denied the use of his abilities, he was forced to push his natural limits, uncovering untapped potential within himself.

This relentless process had sharpened his senses to an extraordinary degree. His vision, hearing, and reflexes were now perfected. His already advanced body had been refined further, each session forging him into a near-perfect specimen of strength and precision.

Commander Darian stood at the training room's edge, arms crossed as he observed their new arrival. Kaela's form was completely obscured, her voice distorted through some kind of modulation. The tension in the air was palpable.

"You weren't kidding about his physical development," Kaela remarked, her altered voice carrying a note of impressed surprise. "Most kids his age would have broken months ago."

Darian's lips quirked in what might have been pride. "Trust me, he tried. Lost count of how many times he begged to quit in the first month."

"And now?"

"Now he gets back up before I have to tell him to." Darian's eyes tracked Alex as he moved through his warm-up routine. "Though I'm still burning through healing potions like water."

Kaela circled the training area, her movements precise and measured. "The council's reports mentioned his potential, but this is... unexpected. Have you tested his reaction speed?"

"Upper percentile for adult operatives, and that's without his awakened abilities." Darian paused, then added with dry humour, "He's also developed quite the colourful vocabulary when he thinks I can't hear him."

"Teenagers," Kaela chuckled, the sound strange through the modulation. "Well, if you've laid the foundation this solid, weapons training should be interesting. Any preferences he's shown?"

"Hard to say without proper exposure. But given his enhanced visual processing and reflexes..." Darian trailed off thoughtfully.

"You're thinking ranged weapons?"

"Among others. Though knowing this kid, he'll probably surprise us both." 

"I read the brief. However, I have to ask - what exactly are we dealing with here? The classification level on his file is higher than anything I've seen in decades."

Darian was quiet for a long moment. "Let's just say there's a reason we've kept him isolated out here. And why I've pushed him so hard to master the basics without relying on his gift." He straightened up, raising his voice. "Alright Alex, stop pretending you're not trying to eavesdrop and get over here. Time to meet your new instructor."

Alex emerged from behind the storage shed, trying and failing to look nonchalant. A figure stood beside Darian, clad in the distinctive armour of the veil, face obscured by a bronze mask etched with swirling patterns. The mask tilted slightly as Alex approached, studying him.

"This is Instructor Kaela," Darian said. "She'll be taking over your weapons training."

Twenty minutes later, Alex's arms ached from holding the same defensive position while Kaela circled him like a hawk sizing up its prey.

"Your stance is off," Kaela noted, circling Alex as he held a practice blade. Though her face was hidden, Alex could feel her analytical gaze. "Commander Darian mentioned you've gotten cocky."

"I'm not cocky," Alex muttered, adjusting his grip. "Just tired of getting thrown into walls."

A laugh escaped through Kaela's modulator, somehow both mechanical and warm. "At least you're honest. Most students try to impress me with bravado on their first day." 

She drew her practice blade. "Let's see how you handle defensive patterns. And don't even think about that spinning move you're considering - I can already tell it'll leave you open."

"How did you-"

"Your weight shifted to your back foot. Rookie tell." The modulated voice carried a hint of amusement. "Now, show me what a year of getting thrown into walls has taught you."

Alex raised his guard, a small grin forming. "Just... try not to enjoy it as much as Commander Darian does."

"Oh? And what makes you think I won't?"

"Because," Alex replied, settling into his stance, "he's usually laughing before he breaks my ribs."

"Let's test those reflexes," Kaela said, her practice blade whistling through the air with deliberate restraint - testing, measuring.

Alex parried the first strike, but the second caught him across the ribs. Even with the padded blade, he winced. "I thought we were starting slow!"

"This is slow." The modulated voice carried a hint of amusement. "Your left guard keeps dropping. Fix it."

Alex adjusted, blocking her next series of attacks. His confidence grew with each successful parry until-

The practice blade swept his legs out from under him. He hit the mat hard, air rushing from his lungs.

"Never get comfortable," Kaela advised, offering a hand up. "Comfort gets you killed."

"Pretty sure everything gets you killed," Alex grumbled, accepting the help. "Commander Darian reminds me daily."

"Smart man. Speaking of-" She struck again without warning. This time Alex managed to dodge, earning an approving nod. "Not bad. Your body's learning faster than your mouth."

They continued trading blows, and Kaela's attacks gradually increased in speed and complexity. Alex held his own longer than expected but eventually found himself disarmed, the practice blade clattering across the floor.

"Enough," Kaela called, lowering her weapon. "You've got good instincts. Time to give them proper tools." She gestured for him to follow. "Every operative needs to master at least five weapons. Makes you adaptable, unpredictable."

The armoury took Alex's breath away. Walls lined with steel and carbon fibre, centuries of deadly innovation displayed with clinical precision. His eyes darted from blade to blade, each one promising its own deadly dance.

"Choose," Kaela instructed, watching his reaction.

Alex's hand drifted to a sleek dagger, its blade no longer than his forearm. The grip felt natural and balanced.

"Interesting choice," Kaela observed.

"Daggers demand precision," Kaela began. "Unlike swords or spears, you're working with limited range and leverage. Every movement must be deliberate. There's no room for wasted energy or unnecessary motion."

She demonstrated a basic grip, her fingers wrapping securely around the hilt. "First, your grip. Hold it too tight, and you'll tire quickly. Too loose, and you'll lose control. Your grip should be firm but flexible, allowing for quick adjustments."

Alex mirrored her movements, adjusting his hold until Kaela nodded. "Good. Now, footwork. Your stance determines everything. Stay balanced. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. You're not planting yourself; you're staying mobile."

She moved across the floor with fluid precision. Alex followed, mimicking her movements. Kaela's voice cut through the silence like the blade in her hand.

"A dagger fight is about closing distance. You're not going to win a duel by standing back. You need to get in close, strike, and retreat before your opponent has a chance to react. That's where your footwork comes in. Pivot. Sidestep. Never move in a straight line."

She advanced on him suddenly, her dagger a blur. Alex barely managed to sidestep, his instincts honed from a year of relentless training. Kaela's expression remained neutral as she reset her stance.

"Good reaction. But you hesitated. In a real fight, hesitation gets you killed. When you move, commit. Half-measures are worthless."

Kaela stepped back, gesturing for Alex to attack. "Your turn. Come at me."

Alex hesitated for a fraction of a second before lunging forward, his dagger aimed at her midsection. Kaela deflected the attack with a flick of her wrist, her blade sliding along his in a controlled motion. Before he could recover, she struck his wrist, forcing him to drop the dagger.

"Again," she commanded, her tone sharp.

Alex retrieved his weapon and adjusted his stance. This time, he feinted to the left before striking to the right. Kaela parried with ease, her movements efficient and economical.

"You're thinking too much," she said. "A fight isn't a chess game. It's instinct and training. The moment you start overanalyzing, you're already losing."

She demonstrated a series of drills, each designed to build muscle memory. "Practice these until they're second nature. High strike, low strike, feint, retreat. Repeat until you don't have to think about it. Your body will do the work."

For hours, Alex worked through the drills. His muscles burned, and sweat dripped down his face, but he refused to stop. Kaela watched him with an impassive gaze, correcting his form with curt instructions.

"Your elbow's too high. Lower it. Keep your wrist loose. You're telegraphing your movements. Smaller steps. Faster transitions."

By the end of the session, Alex's body felt like it was on fire. His arms trembled from the effort, and his legs ached from the constant motion. Kaela handed him a flask of water, her expression unreadable.

"You've got potential," she admitted . "But potential means nothing without discipline. Come back tomorrow. We're just getting started."

The next day, the training intensified. Kaela introduced Alex to real-world scenarios, each designed to test his adaptability and composure. They began with disarm techniques.

"In a fight, you're not always going to have the advantage," Kaela explained. "Sometimes, you'll be unarmed, or your opponent will have a longer weapon. That's when you need to know how to disarm them."

She demonstrated, moving with blinding speed as she twisted Alex's wrist and sent his dagger clattering to the floor. "It's about leverage and timing. You're not overpowering them; you're using their own strength against them."

Alex practiced the technique repeatedly, his movements clumsy at first but gradually improving under Kaela's watchful eye. She pushed him relentlessly, forcing him to refine each motion until it was smooth and efficient.

"Good. Now, let's add some pressure."

Kaela handed Alex a training dagger. "Try to disarm me. And don't hold back."

The ensuing sparring session was brutal. Kaela's strikes were relentless, her movements a blur as she tested Alex's limits. He managed to disarm her once, only to find himself on the floor a moment later, her knee pressing into his chest.

"Better," she said, stepping back. "But you're still hesitating. Trust your training. Trust yourself."

As the weeks passed, Kaela introduced more advanced techniques. She taught Alex how to fight in confined spaces, using walls and obstacles to his advantage. She drilled him on grappling techniques, showing him how to neutralize an opponent's movements with joint locks and holds.

"A dagger isn't just for stabbing," she said. "It's a tool. Use the pommel to strike. Use the blade to control. Every part of the weapon has a purpose."

Alex absorbed everything she taught him, his skills improving with each passing day. Kaela's training was grueling, but it was effective. By the end of the month, he could hold his own against her in sparring sessions, his movements fluid and precise.

One day, Kaela brought out a set of weighted training daggers. "These will build your strength and endurance," she explained. "If you can handle these, a real dagger will feel like an extension of your hand."

The weighted daggers were heavier than Alex had expected, and his arms ached after just a few minutes of practice. But he pushed through the discomfort, determined to master the weapon. Kaela watched him with a critical eye, offering corrections and encouragement as needed.

"Good. Now, let's work on combinations. High strike, low strike, feint, pivot. Keep your movements tight. No wasted energy."

They practiced for hours, the sound of clashing blades echoing through the training room. By the time they finished, Alex's body was drenched in sweat, but his movements were sharper and more precise than ever.

Kaela nodded in approval. "You're getting there. But remember, training is just the beginning. In a real fight, nothing goes as planned. Adapt. Improvise. Survive."

Kaela's training intensified over the weeks, and it wasn't just about technique—it was about survival. Every session was raw and unpredictable. She taught Alex how to fight dirty, blending his growing dagger skills with hand-to-hand combat. 

"Rule number one," Kaela said, pacing around him, "forget about honor in a fight. This isn't a duel. It's survival. If you're fighting fair, you're already losing."

Alex nodded, sweat dripping down his face. He'd just been thrown to the ground for the third time in as many minutes. Kaela stood over him, her dagger angled downward in a mock finishing strike.

"Get up. Again."

He scrambled to his feet, gripping his practice dagger tightly. Kaela moved in, her strikes quick and precise. Alex barely managed to block the first few before she closed the distance, hooking his wrist and twisting the weapon from his grasp.

"Too rigid," she said, tossing the dagger back to him. "You're treating the blade like it's the only thing that matters. Your body is a weapon too. Use it."

She demonstrated, moving through a series of attacks that combined slashes with elbows, knees, and kicks. Each motion flowed into the next, creating a seamless blend of offense and defense.

"Now you try," she said, stepping back.

Alex hesitated, then lunged forward. He swung the dagger in a wide arc, but Kaela sidestepped easily, catching his arm and using his momentum to throw him off balance. Before he could recover, she pinned him to the ground, her forearm pressing against his throat.

"Sloppy," she said, releasing him. "Your movements are too predictable. You're thinking like a swordsman, not a survivor. A dagger is about precision and speed. Strike where it hurts, then get out."

She helped him up and handed him the dagger again. "This time, don't just attack. Look for openings. Create them if you have to."

The next attempt went better. Alex feinted to the left, drawing Kaela's guard before darting to the right and aiming a quick slash at her ribs. She blocked it, but there was a flicker of approval in her eyes.

"Better," she said. "But don't stop there. Follow through."

Over the following weeks, Kaela drilled him relentlessly in unorthodox techniques. She taught him how to use the environment to his advantage—throwing dirt or debris to blind an opponent, using walls for leverage, and even employing his own injuries as distractions.

"Pain is a tool," she said during one session, binding his arm behind his back to simulate an injury. "Your opponent will think it makes you weaker. Use that. Make them underestimate you."

She also emphasized the importance of improvisation. One day, she handed him a training dagger with a dull edge and told him to disarm her.

"But it's blunt," Alex protested.

"Exactly," Kaela said, smirking. "Figure it out."

It took nearly an hour, but Alex finally managed to knock her weapon from her hand by using his dagger as a lever. He felt a surge of triumph, but Kaela's next words cut it short.

"Good," she said. "Now do it faster. And next time, don't stop to celebrate. That's how you get killed."

By the end of each session, Alex was bruised and exhausted, but he could feel himself improving. His movements became quicker, his strikes more precise. He learned to anticipate Kaela's attacks, countering with moves. And though she never said it outright, he could tell she was impressed.