Reflexes Don’t Lie
1011 Words
Kael leaned against the polished column of the Grand Hall’s upper balcony, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the girl who should’ve failed before she even stepped onto the mat.
He had called her forward out of curiosity. Now... he wasn’t so sure what he was looking at.
Down below, Lyra stood in the center of the sparring floor, still and silent, facing Bron—one of the most aggressive trainees in the academy. Bigger. Stronger. Meaner.
Unfair? Yes. That was the point.
Kael didn’t believe in coddling students. Either they rose to the challenge, or they were crushed by it.
But this girl... she was supposed to be fragile.
She didn’t move like someone fragile.
He narrowed his eyes, watching as Bron swung wide. Lyra bent backward, smooth as water. No hesitation. No wasted motion. Just clean, instinctual reaction.
Kael’s brow furrowed. Reflexes like that aren’t taught. They’re inherited. Or... suppressed. Maybe even the result of old magic—ritual conditioning, or worse, bloodline memory. Could she be tied to one of the sealed bloodlines? A forgotten clan whose gifts didn’t die, only went underground? The idea nagged at him, dangerous and unfinished. He’d seen flashes of it before in war-born soldiers raised with runes etched into their bones. But Lyra didn’t carry herself like a weapon. She moved like someone rediscovering muscle memory from a life she hadn’t lived.
Lyra’s feet slid across the stone with practiced control, every dodge a quiet dance. Bron came at her again, red-faced and panting, swinging like a wild animal. He didn’t notice how calm she was. How aware.
But Kael did.
She didn’t fight back, not yet. She didn’t need to. She was reading Bron—his foot placement, the tension in his neck, the speed of his pivot. She was calculating every angle of failure.
Kael had seen this once before. From a healer-warrior hybrid trained to fight by reading energy currents, not physical movement. It was a rare talent.
And Lyra, the voiceless outsider, was displaying the same level of sensory reading as someone with years of training.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Lyra exhaled slowly, centering herself. She hadn’t meant to draw attention—not from Kael, not from anyone. She didn’t want to be seen. But something had shifted inside her the moment Bron’s fist came for her face.
It was like her body moved before she could think. Like it remembered something her mind had forgotten.
Bron bellowed as he charged again. Lyra dodged low, then pivoted around him so smoothly that the crowd gasped. Her eyes snapped to Kael for a second. He didn’t blink, but he was watching her like a hawk.
She shouldn’t have looked.
She turned her attention back just in time—Bron lunged again, this time with his full weight behind a sweeping leg.
She jumped. Spun. And planted her palm square against his chest.
A warmth bloomed from her skin—like lightning contained in her bones. Her hand glowed faintly for less than a second.
And Bron flew back like a rag doll.
Kael’s heart stopped.
No spell had been cast. No shift triggered.
But he saw it—just barely. A pulse of light beneath her skin. It wasn’t ordinary magic. It was raw, ancient, and controlled by instinct alone.
He stepped down from the dais, quiet and composed, even as curiosity burned like wildfire beneath his skin.
Bron groaned on the floor. Kael didn’t even look at him.
Instead, he looked at her.
She wasn’t breathing heavily. She wasn’t shaking.
She was... afraid.
Of herself.
That confirmed it. She didn’t know what she was. And that made her dangerous.
“Everyone else—dismissed,” he said flatly. “Except her.”
Lyra stood frozen on the mat long after the others filed out. The humiliation that should’ve come from facing a much stronger opponent never arrived. Neither did pride.
All she felt was dread.
She hadn’t meant to touch him like that—not with whatever that was pulsing through her palm. She hadn’t even known it was possible.
Not until it had already happened.
And now Kael was watching her like a puzzle he intended to solve.
What was that?
Kael paced a slow circle around her.
“Your opponent was stronger. But you didn’t panic.”
Lyra stood stiff, silent.
“You saw his weaknesses before he showed them. That takes more than talent.”
Still no response.
He stopped in front of her.
“You’ve been taught to stay quiet. To stay unnoticed. Why?”
Lyra lowered her eyes.
He didn’t expect an answer.
But then she moved.
She reached into the notebook tucked in her pocket and flipped past the first few pages. Her handwriting was small, neat.
She held it up.
I was taught silence was safer than attention.
Kael read the words. A strange weight settled behind his ribs.
“Who taught you that?”
A long pause.
Then she flipped to the next page.
Everyone.
He studied her for a long moment.
“You’re hiding something.”
Lyra’s eyes flashed in alarm, but she didn’t deny it.
Kael almost smiled.
He’d seen students wield elemental fire and shadows and lightning. He’d seen healers close wounds and seers glimpse fragments of futures.
But this girl?
She was unreadable.
And unreadable was rare.
“You’ll train with me now,” he said. “Alone.”
Lyra looked up sharply, notebook pressed to her chest.
Why?
“Because I don’t like mysteries I can’t solve.”
As she turned to leave, he called after her one more time.
“Lyra.”
She stopped.
“Next time,” he said, “don’t hold back. If you do... you might hurt someone by accident.”
She nodded once and slipped silently through the doors.
Kael watched her go, his thoughts tangled.
She had no voice. No family connections. No clan name or noble lineage.
But she moved like she was born for war.
And Kael couldn’t shake the feeling that something ancient had just awakened in her.
- Writer
