Empyrean

Chapter 8

Chapter 8-Serena

Zenith-Red Alexandros Headquarters Roof

Three hours prior to Sunrise, 6th of Pachon, Year 612

            “Mentor, I’m here.” I say compulsively. He isn’t even where he usually is sitting in his old Zenith-made chair in the corner of the roof.

            “You’re late Serena.” I feel his presence behind me, and those dark eyes boring into the back of my skull. “Do you have a reason?”

            “Well, I only got about three hours of sleep a night and didn't have anything to eat for the past two days!” I don’t know why I talked back to him. I guess the lack of rest and built up anger just spilled over. After all there is only so much straw that you can put on an ass’s back.

            “Don’t worry. This part of your training will end…soon. But I promise, the next stage will make you wish you were back doing what we are now.” I don’t like the sound of that, but all he does is chuckle.

            “What is that supposed to mean?” I’ve cooled down already, but if I’d lose face to seem calm already. I am standing up to my pitiful master right now.

            “I said what I meant.” He shakes off his robes and reveals a scarred and muscular body. I still get chills when I look at him. To think someone born in the Zenith could be so fit is beyond me. I have asked him many times about the serpentine scars but he always dodges the question. “Can you beat me today?”

            “Probably not.” It is true. But I know that isn’t the answer he wanted.

            “Well, then I guess you won’t!” And with that he rushes at me with his fists cocked at his sides. He has done this so many times in the past week or so that I am not even shocked when it happens. The first day I learned he was left-handed. I know to lean to my left from the first punch. I still have the bruised eye to prove it.

            Next one of two things happens. Either he jump-kicks to my head or swings for my legs. I watch his knees to tell which one will rear its head this time. As soon as his knees begin to unbend again I know it is the jump-kick. I duck and try to punch him in the stomach, but, as with anytime I try to attack him, he simply twists out of the way in the most graceful manner possible.

            Now is the part of the fight where we have both made enough choices that there is no way to know what will happen next. I must predict, execute based on that prediction, and then recalculate based on what actually happens. I hate to admit it, but the stupid board game that we played so much does help with this. The ability to focus on so many moving parts in a battle is essential.

            Eventually, after a good effort from me, his knee drives into my side and I almost fly off the side of the roof, holding on by just my left hand. “You need some help there, neophyte?” He chuckles and lifts me up onto wooden safety. “That was the longest you have ever lasted, four minutes and eight seconds! Congratulations.”

            All I can do to respond is lick my wounds and say, “It doesn't really feel like much of an accomplishment.” The fact that he was keeping time in his head while fighting me is too much to grasp. 

            “The time you achieved isn’t why I decided to congratulate you. The way in which you achieved it is why this is both an accomplishment and a step forward in your training.” He sits in his chair and begins to rock back and forth.