The grove was silent except for the crunch of snow beneath Zyair's boots. He had spent hours already testing Ice and Chaos Oros in controlled bursts, letting the energy flow through his three tails. But raw power alone wasn't enough.
If I'm going to make it to the Academy… I need a fighting style of my own.
He crouched low, practicing punches and kicks in the snow, feeling his muscles wake from disuse. Then he shifted, letting a tail whip forward like a living weapon, striking a nearby tree trunk. The bark cracked under the impact, and Zyair grinned despite himself.
Yes… this could work.
He began integrating his tails into every motion: one tail feinting to draw attention, the other striking from unexpected angles. Chaos Oros pulsed faintly along the tips, enough to give a sting, but not enough to risk drawing unwanted attention. He experimented with combining ice shards into the strikes, testing the balance between offense and control.
Punches, kicks, tail strikes, spins—he moved in patterns that were unpredictable, almost serpentine. The grove became a private dojo, snow kicked up around him like mist from a boiling cauldron.
When he tired, he ran laps, jumping from tree to tree, letting his tails coil around branches to launch himself further. His agility improved; his muscles remembered the flow of Oros through his body. He was learning to fight as a single entity, tails, hands, and legs working in perfect synchrony.
Each night, he collapsed against a tree, exhausted but exhilarated. The Hydra Apex Drive still loomed over him, but careful, controlled bursts of power let him recover quickly. He could feel his limits, the edge where a flashback might strike, and he kept just below it.
By the fifth day, Zyair could:
● Strike with one tail while dodging with the other two.
● Infuse a light Chaos or Ice Oros strike without destabilizing his energy.
● Move in serpentine, unpredictable patterns, making him difficult to anticipate.
● Recover energy faster using small doses of elemental absorption from the environment.
By the time I reach the Academy, no one will be able to predict my moves.
Still, he knew the journey would be long. Foot travel alone would take him a month to reach the gates. But with each day, each training session, he grew stronger—not just in raw power, but in skill, precision, and control.
And somewhere beyond the grove, shadows lingered. Observers. Patients. Waiting for the moment he pushed too far. Waiting for Leviathan to emerge.