Second Nature

His stance was firm, grounded, but there was a sharpness in his eyes—a silent push for Orion to think deeper. He took a step forward and gestured for Orion to attack him. Hesitant but obedient, Orion swung the Khopesh in a standard diagonal strike—only for Varun to barely shift his stance and let the curved edge slip uselessly past him.

The Chokuto Orion used in training with Kieran, in contrast to the Khopesh, was a weapon of precision—an ancient straight-bladed sword designed for decisive, clean cuts. It lacked the curvature of later blades, making it less forgiving in fluid combat but unmatched in delivering direct, linear strikes. It was a weapon that demanded absolute control, rewarding those who mastered its discipline with devastating speed. Unlike the Khopesh, which manipulated angles and leverage, the Chokuto thrived on efficiency—every movement had to be deliberate, every attack a calculated execution.

"Wrong." Varun's expression remained unreadable, he exhaled through his nose, the briefest hint of expectation in his gaze.

Another attempt. A horizontal slash—Varun stepped in, and suddenly the angle of Orion's strike worked against him, putting his own balance at risk.

"Again." Varun observed him, his fingers flexed slightly, as if considering a correction before deciding against it.

A downward cleave. This time, Varun caught the motion early and twisted his wrist against Orion's, using the curve of the weapon against its wielder, almost disarming him in an instant.

"The Khopesh is not a duelist's sword," Varun said, his voice flat. "It's a soldier's weapon. It's not meant for flashy duels or delicate cuts. It's meant to break formations, to slip past shields, to hook and tear armor apart."

Orion tightened his grip, staring at the weapon with new eyes.

"If you treat it like a saber, you'll die."

That got his attention.

Varun picked up his own Khopesh—one that looked far older and more worn than Orion's training version. He made a slow, deliberate motion, showing how the curved edge naturally caught onto an invisible opponent's guard and dragged it away, opening them up for a follow-up strike.

"You don't cut cleanly. You hook their weapon, their limbs, their armor. You use the curve to control the flow of battle, not just to strike."

Orion nodded slowly.

He tried again—this time, instead of a straight swing, he aimed to catch with the inside curve, pulling against the invisible resistance before twisting into another strike.

It felt better.

Not perfect. But better.

For the next hour, he practiced, his movements slow and deliberate at first, gradually increasing in speed. The mistakes were obvious—he overextended too often, left his wrist vulnerable, and still occasionally reverted to standard swordplay—but Varun made no comment, only watching, letting him struggle his way into understanding.

By the time Orion finally managed a clean, controlled series of movements that incorporated both offense and defense, Varun nodded.

"Not bad."

Which, from him, might as well have been high praise.

The spear felt like it belonged to another world.

Orion had worked with staffs and polearms before, but this... this was a different beast entirely. The weapon was longer, more intimidating—a combination of thrusting, sweeping, and slicing, all with a reach that felt unnatural to him at first.

At first glance, the weapon seemed like a simple thrusting tool. But the weight of the reinforced tip, the sharpened edges along the lower shaft, made it clear that it wasn't just for stabbing. The elongated spearhead could slash, hook, and parry just as well as it could pierce. The shaft was long, meant for both sweeping movements and keeping opponents at bay.

Orion had barely begun to practice with it before Varun's voice cut through the air.

"You're too stiff. Don't treat it like a simple pike. Don't just thrust, don't just swing. Move it like an extension of yourself, not a tool."

Orion's brow furrowed. "An extension of myself? How am I supposed to—"

Varun slammed the butt of his own spear against the ground, the heavy thud echoing. "You have a chain to control distance, and a Khopesh to cut at close range. The spear's job is to control the space in between. It's not just about striking—it's about maintaining rhythm."

Orion tried another stab, but Varun stepped in close, making the thrust ineffective, forcing Orion to adjust on the fly.

"When you're too stiff, you give away your intentions. You have to let the weight of the weapon guide you, and let it flow with you."

Orion felt the strain in his arms. The long shaft was heavy, and each movement felt sluggish, like he was struggling to keep it balanced. The spear felt out of his control—every time he tried to strike or block, it felt like the blade wasn't working with him. Instead of slicing cleanly, he was pushing the weapon through the air with pure force, and that felt wrong.

"Don't force it," Varun said again, his voice cold and dispassionate. "Control it with your core. Use your body—your legs—not just your arms. The blade will follow you if you let it."

Orion took a step back, breathing heavily. The weight of the spear was draining his energy, but there was something else in Varun's tone—a hint of expectation. Varun didn't expect him to get it right away, but he clearly wanted to see him get past his mistakes.

He repositioned his stance, shifting his weight forward into his legs, and tried again. This time, instead of forcing the weapon forward with his arms, he allowed his legs to drive the motion, using his entire body to guide the spear's weight. The thrust felt more controlled, less awkward.

"Better," Varun said, though his voice still carried that critical edge. "But you're still overextending. Don't lunge forward so much. Keep your footwork tight and focused—stay balanced. If you're too far forward, you can't retreat."

Orion tried again. The next few moves were more fluid—less forced—but he still felt like he was getting in his own way. The spear's reach was both a gift and a curse. The longer range meant he could control space well, but it also meant that he had to work even harder to maintain proper form.

"Good."

Varun's voice finally sounded approving, and Orion couldn't help but feel a small sense of accomplishment. But he knew there was still a long road ahead.

After what felt like hours, Varun called for a break. Orion dropped the spear to the floor, his arms aching.

"Next time," Varun said, wiping the sweat from his brow, not from teaching Orion, but from the short workout he'd squeezed in between Orion's tedious exercises "we'll work on chaining those movements together. You'll need to learn how to move fluidly between the Khopesh, spear, and chain. But today—today's progress is what matters."

It wasn't much. But it was something.

The journey to mastering these stances wasn't just about the weapons. It was about understanding how his body could work in concert with them, how each part of the weapon—each segment—could flow seamlessly into the next. But first, he had to learn to move with it. He had to understand the weight, the mechanics, and the necessity of making his movements second nature.