What needs to be done for a better world

Chapter 15

By the time the training session drew to a close, the sun had fully risen, casting a crisp golden light across the training grounds. The warmth of it spilled over the mats, catching on dust motes and the faint sheen of sweat that clung to skin and fur alike. It was just half past ten, and the four of them, Ray, Fred, Samantha, and Artis, lay scattered across the padded floor, each in their own posture of spent energy. Limbs were stretched out, chests rising and falling with the slow rhythm of fatigue, the silence between them filled with the kind of quiet that only follows true exertion. For a moment, none of them spoke. They simply breathed.

Fred groaned dramatically as he lay flat on his back for the sixth time that morning. "That's it. I'm officially declaring war on Alpha Squad," he muttered, staring up at the sky like it had betrayed him too.

"You started it," Samantha said with a smirk, flicking her towel over one shoulder as she paced in slow, measured circles to cool down. Her breathing was calm, barely more than a whisper, her fur already drying in the warm sun. If the sparring had taken any effort from her, she didn't show much of it.

The sunlight caught the edges of her white and ice-blue fur, giving her an almost ethereal glow. But the rising heat from her shoulders and the beads of sweat clinging to the short fur along her neckline told a different story, one of exertion, not grace. Her movements, calm and steady, carried a precision that felt almost militaristic, too measured for someone who had just spent the last hour in relentless hand-to-hand combat.

Ray sat near the edge of the mat, one arm draped over his knee as he tried to steady his breathing. His ribs throbbed from the lightning-fast combo Artis had landed mid-match, sharp, fluid, and damn near invisible. He leaned back onto his elbows with a quiet grunt. "You move like nothing I've ever faced. Fast, fluid... it's like your body reads mine three moves ahead."

Fred groaned from where he lay sprawled on the mat, still catching his breath. "She's like a damn whip with fangs."

Artis, crouched nearby and rolling out her shoulders, gave a slow, deliberate flick of her tongue. "Took you long enough to notice."

The patterns along her scale-covered arms shimmered under the sunlight, creating a hypnotic ripple of white and deep violet, touched with an iridescent sheen. Every movement she made, each crouch, each slow pivot, carried an unnatural grace, a poised stillness that echoed her reptilian lineage. Her long, muscular tail twitched behind her, not quite at rest, not quite in motion, coiled, ready to strike.

Samantha smirked as she casually tossed Fred a bottle of water. The lingering thoughts that had weighed on her earlier were swept away by the heat of the sparring. "You were asking for it," she said, her tone light but unmistakably smug.

"I was asking for a fair fight," Fred muttered as he cracked open the bottle. "Not a masterclass in how to get folded in half by someone who doesn't even break a sweat."

Artis, coiled gracefully in a seated position a few feet away, looked entirely unbothered. "It's not my fault none of you know how to keep your center of gravity low," she said, stretching her spine with a languid ease. Her tongue flicked out between words. "You're all top-heavy and overconfident."

As she arched her back, her vertebrae moved in a fluid ripple, her silhouette shifting like water poured into motion. The natural armor of her lower scales caught each flex with mesmerizing grace, smooth, seamless, and undeniably lethal. Watching her, Ray couldn't help but think she was built for motion. Like a blade given breath.

Ray gave a winded chuckle. "Says the one who nearly dislocated my shoulder."

Artis tilted her head, smiling without a hint of guilt. "You turned into the strike. That's on you."