19. Athena

19

ATHENA

S weat trickles down my spine as I circle Raven in the stone courtyard. My muscles burn from the past hour of training, but I refuse to give up. The xaphan warrior's violet eyes track my movements, her midnight hair whipping around as she pivots to match my steps.

"Come on, little human. Show me what you've got." Her lips curl into that familiar smirk. "You won't hurt anyone with those baby punches."

I lunge forward, aiming for her left side where I know her old injury makes her slower. Raven's dove-gray wings snap out for balance as she twists away, but I manage to clip her shoulder.

"Better." She grabs my arm and flips me onto my back. The impact knocks the air from my lungs. "But still too predictable."

A deep chuckle echoes across the courtyard. I crane my neck to see Koros's massive frame blocking the archway, his mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement. His dark red hair catches the afternoon light as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.

"Don't stop on my account." His scarred face breaks into a rare grin. "This is far more entertaining than watching the market squabbles."

"Koros!" I scramble to my feet, face burning. "I thought you were meeting with Uriel today."

"Finished early." He spreads his nearly-black wings, casting a shadow over half the courtyard. "Raven's right though - you telegraph your moves."

"Then help me fix it instead of standing there like an oversized rono." I plant my hands on my hips.

Raven barks out a laugh. "Watch it, she's getting feisty." She winks at me. "She's been learning from the best."

"Good." Koros steps into the training circle, his presence making the space feel suddenly smaller. "A healer needs bite. Show me your stance."

I shift into position, and his massive hand adjusts my elbow. Despite his intimidating size, his touch is gentle - like a wild animal being cautious with a child.

"Now," he rumbles, "let's work on making those punches count."

So I do what he says. It's funny that after spending so long afraid of Koros, I'm not more than comfortable as he teaches me.

"Plant your feet wider." Koros circles me, his wings brushing the stone. "Your size is an advantage if you know how to use it."

I adjust my stance, heart pounding as the massive xaphan steps closer. Even Raven, who's no delicate flower, looks small next to him. His black and gold eyes scan my form with the precision of a master craftsman examining his work.

"Like this?"

"Lower." His calloused hand cups my elbow, guiding it down. The gentleness in his touch surprises me. "Keep your center of gravity close to the ground. Most opponents will try to use their height against you."

Raven leans against a pillar, arms crossed. "Show her that move you used on those smugglers last week."

"The throat strike?" Koros's scarred face breaks into a wicked grin. "Might be too advanced-"

"I can handle it." I straighten my spine, chin lifted in challenge.

He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Watch closely."

Koros demonstrates the move in slow motion, his massive frame flowing with unexpected grace. His dark red hair falls forward as he ducks under an imaginary opponent's guard, wings tucked tight to avoid telegraphing the movement.

"The key is misdirection." He beckons me closer. "Make them think you're going for the obvious target - then strike where they're vulnerable." His hands position my arms, adjusting my fingers into proper form. Despite his intimidating size, each touch is measured, careful.

"Most fighters expect you to attack head-on." He taps my shoulder. "But you're quick, smaller. Use that. Slip past their defenses while they're busy watching for the obvious hit."

I mirror his movements, muscle memory building with each repetition. The afternoon sun catches his wings, revealing subtle patterns in the near-black feathers - like oil on water.

"Good." His approval rumbles through his chest. "Again, but faster this time."

I practice the move again, this time with more confidence. Koros shifts his weight, deliberately leaving an opening. When I dart forward, he makes an exaggerated gasp.

"Oh no, the tiny human's got me." His massive frame topples backward, wings splaying out like a startled bird. The nearly-black feathers fan across the ground as he clutches his chest. "My reputation, ruined by a healer half my size."

A laugh bursts from my throat. "You're worse than those theater performers in the market square."

Koros rolls onto his side, his dark red hair falling into his face as he props his head on one hand. "I'll have you know I considered a career in dramatics before settling on weapons trading." His mismatched eyes sparkle with mischief.

"Get up, you oaf." Raven kicks his boot. "You're going to crush your primaries flopping around like that."

He springs to his feet with surprising agility for someone his size. "Can't let a little thing like dignity get in the way of proper training." His scarred face breaks into a genuine smile - the kind that transforms his intimidating features into something almost boyish.

"Again?" I bounce on my toes, energized by his playfulness.

"Always ready." He settles into a fighting stance, but I catch the way his wings twitch - he's planning something.

I circle him carefully, looking for an opening. When I spot his weight shift slightly, I dart in - only to have him spin away with a pirouette that sends his wings swooshing dramatically.

"Such grace!" He twirls again, looking ridiculous for someone built like a war machine. "Such elegance!"

"Stop dancing and fight me properly!" But I'm laughing too hard to sound stern.

"As my lady commands." He bows with flourish, nearly smacking Raven with his wing.

She ducks, cursing. "I swear by Solas, Koros, if you molt all over this courtyard with your theatrics..."

"Worth it." He winks at me with his golden eye, then assumes an absurdly formal stance. "Now, show me that move again. This time with feeling!"

He pushes me just as hard as Raven, though he keeps it light with jokes. By the time we have a chance to rest, I'm covered in sweat and bruises, scrapes along my skin that makes me wince.

Koros settles on the stone steps, his massive frame making the stairs look like children's blocks. His wings drape behind him like a dark cloak as he passes me a water skin.

"You think this is bad?" He gestures at my scraped knees. "When I first started training, I knocked myself out cold trying to do an aerial maneuver. Woke up with half my feathers bent the wrong way and my instructor laughing so hard he cried."

I take a long drink, studying the way his scars crinkle when he smiles. One cuts deep across his jaw, pale against his tan skin. "What happened then?"

"Kept at it." He runs a hand through his dark red waves, his mismatched eyes distant with memory. "Though I did learn to practice over water after that. Softer landing."

Raven snorts from her perch on the wall. "Tell her about the time you got your wings tangled in those market banners."

"That was different." His black eye catches the light like obsidian while the golden one sparkles with mirth. "Those banners were clearly possessed by malevolent spirits."

"Right." She stretches her dove-gray wings. "The spirits made you crash into three fruit stalls and end up wearing half a melon as a hat."

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at the mental image of this mountain of a xaphan covered in fruit pulp. He catches my expression and clutches his chest.

"Betrayed by my own student." His massive wings droop dramatically. "After I shared my deepest shame."

"Please," I lean forward, "tell me more about these possessed banners."

His face lights up, transforming those intimidating features into something warm, almost childlike. "Well, since you asked so nicely..." He launches into the tale, his hands painting pictures in the air as he describes his younger self's misadventures.

I find myself relaxing as he talks, the earlier tension from training melting away. It's strange - when I first met him, his size and those battle scars terrified me. Now I see how his hands, capable of crushing stone, are gentle when he demonstrates a move. How his fearsome appearance hides a soul that delights in making others laugh.