She adjusts, instinctively straightening her legs.
He shoves her.
She stumbles—hard—catching herself just before the dirt.
“Locked knees,” he says flatly. “You may as well give up now.”
He’s baiting her.
He crouches, eye level now, so close she can smell the war and earth on him—iron, salt, and sun-warmed skin. He reaches down, tapping the backs of her knees. “Soft. Always soft. You don’t fight force by resisting it—you absorb it.”
“Okay, goo?—”
But Teddy doesn’t let her finish. He kicks her left foot out from under her with a swift strike. Seren sprawls backward, palms catching her before her head can slam into the packed earth. The bandages on her palm roll up, letting the dirt and dust crawl into her fresh wounds from The Perils.
Her fierce gaze snaps to the General.
“Fuck!” she screams. “I wasn’t ready!”
But as the words slip from her mouth, she realizes a deeper truth: the ocean had not waited for her to be ready either.And she already knows she’s said the wrong thing.
General Ashborne huffs a laugh. “War won’t wait for you, Calvatere. Neither will The Perils.”
The use of her last name grinds her patience.
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps through gritted teeth, dragging herself to stand, and dusting off her leathers with excessive force.
But Teddy’s eyes glint like he’s won.
“Then hold your ground.”
He pushes again—harder this time.
Seren absorbs the force through bent knees, but still stumbles, dropping to one knee without thinking, palm slapping into the dirt.
Teddy stops instantly.
“Good,” he says.
She blinks up at him.
“The more contact points you hold, the harder you are to uproot,” he explains. “Get up,” he commands.
And somehow, she likes it. She likes the way he doesn’t treat her like she’s breakable. Doesn’t coddle her in softness. Doesn’t treat her like she’s different from the rest of the people here.
So she climbs to her feet, a fire in her belly that wasn’t there before.
She drops into a low crouch, feet spread, knees soft, weight balanced.
“Never meet force head-on. Play the angles. Manipulate force to your gain,” he instructs, voice low and commanding.
She gives a tight nod, but doesn’t move.
He hits her shoulder—not cruel, not gentle—and she goes down in a tangle of limbs.
He offers no apology.
Her brows furrow, teeth snarling in frustration. But resolve takes root. She springs to her feet, but this time, she doesn’t face him head-on. She positions herself again, angling her stance just slightly.
