Katalia stood in her home gym, tucked just beneath the ground floor of their townhouse. It had been the first renovation to the home that their parents had made after buying it. Though not as grand as other home gyms she had been too, such as her aunt’s, it still felt like theirs. The red-painted walls, coated with the finest Saps from Costadore, were designed to hold out against any damage while also muffling any sound they made.
Inside the gym stood four dummies. None like the ones Tai used. But more sophisticated ones – sophisticated enough to be called Sap Dummies. Though Katalia was unsure how they were crafted, she was sure about one thing – they often creeped her out. They resembled walking wooden blocks with limbs, a neck, and a rectangular head. At the end of each arm were hooks, intended for various attachments – like fists or striking spheres.
“Are you ready, my dove?” her father asked. At 6 foot 4, he easily towered over Katalia’s 6-foot frame. His broad crimson chest proudly puffed out. He always wore the same thing: black track pants that tapered at the ankle, a white T-shirt, and a towel draped around his neck. Katalia had never met anyone sweated as much as her father. Even during the coldest Ilibi winters, any movement would send rivulets of sweat dripping from the tips of his feathers and the end of his beak. He never wore shoes either, insisting, “Pulsers have the best natural protection. By Oja’s wisdom, they’d make every Pulser remove their shoes before battle.”
Katalia assumed her stance, her left foot forward and right foot positioned behind, knees slightly bent, ready to pounce or retreat at a moment’s notice. It was the same stance the Folk used when practicing Belna. It was the same Belna that had garnered her father, Malo, renown in his youth. Raised in the Iradi Imperial Coalition, particularly the realm of Gan Wuo, he abandoned tradition when his father tried to secure for him a Ailado master to teach him the proper Akila way of fighting. But Malo had fallen in love with Belna, convinced that Akilas, with their longer legs and flexibility, had a natural advantage in this style.
Her mother, on the other hand, was a Ailado master. Katalia had seen old tapes of her, gracefully balancing on 20-foot wooden poles, each just wide enough for a single foot. Her footwork was so precise it resembled an intricate dance rather than combat. But her father dismissed Ailado as outdated, predicting that within a generation or so, every KY fighter would be some variation of a SolarFrost Fighting Art.
Malo slipped into a white, shiny jumpsuit that caught the light from the dangling bulb. As soon as he zipped it up, one of the Sap Dummies sprang to life, and began to mirror his every movement. “Ready for a warm-up?”
Katalia neatly folded her wings behind her back. Her left fist hovered near her beak, prepared to block any incoming strike, while her right fist lingered just behind, tensed and ready to unleash a powerful blow. The Sap Dummy stood before, its goofy face – painted by her mother a long time ago – still faintly visible, though the paint had begun to fade away.
The goal was to hone her Combat Instinct.
Katalia began by step-dragging, letting her lead left foot step forward while her rear foot dragged smoothly behind. Her father had drilled into her the importance of gliding rather than bouncing. As she moved, she always made sure to be in optimal striking range from the Sap Dummy her father had been controlling.
Next, he instructed her to move backward. She obeyed, stepping back with her rear foot and dragging, this time, her lead foot to follow. They continued this back-and-forth dance, with her father gradually increasing the tempo. As the pace quickened, Katalia felt the pressure mounting so much so that her movements became less fluid, more deliberate, and stiff.
Her father stopped. “Your footwork is still subpar. It must come by instinct, not through conscious effort.” He placed his sweaty palms on either side of her face, the Sap Dummy mimicking the gesture with its own wooden arms. “You’re thinking way too hard. Come on, I know you know you’re better than this.” He then showed her his own stance, gliding effortlessly across the cold floor. Lead foot step. Rear foot drag. “Always maintain your centre of gravity low,” he said.
But that was exactly the problem. The Folk had a natural advantage in maintaining a low centre of gravity, their bodies were made by the gods with a lower centre of mass in their torso. While, Akilas like her had their centre of gravity higher in their upper bodies.
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Her father instructed her to follow again. Lead foot step. Rear foot drag. She complied trying to let the movements come naturally. But as the tempo increased, she couldn’t shake the awkward feeling of it out of her head, until it seeped its way to her limbs. In a moment of panic, she used her other RiverWood ability – the power to stretch her limbs – using it to pivot away from the dummy.
Her father stopped abruptly, his tone stern. “You’ll get disqualified from the Belna Invitational if you Push like that.”
“But the Folk are allowed to use their Push enhanced fists. Why can’t I?” she protested, genuinely puzzled.
“That’s because it’s their rules. Any other Kin competing has to follow them.” He removed the jumpsuit and the Sap Dummy collapsed to the ground. “Take a break.”
Katalia fought the urge to roll her eyes. All the training did was remind her of her match with Diya da Ruka. Diya’s Pushes had been the difference, something Katalia could barely manage. Sure, she knew enough to use it, but it still felt awkward and sluggish. More often that not, she couldn’t shake the idea that her father was punishing her for being a PureBorn, unlike her brothers, who are PeakBorn Pulsers.
As she made her way up the stairs to the ground floor, she met her brother, Kaelo. His eyes, eternally arched in a way that furrowed his brows, gave him an everlasting look of anger. He was dressed in a white Polassa Pirates jersey and black shorts, the kind some Folk wear when practicing Belna.
“You should come and see me practice,” he said blocking her path.
“I’m good. Thank you,” she replied, rolling her eyes.
He stepped aside, but not without having the last word, “You could learn a thing or two. You’re a step behind these days.”
Ignoring his jab, she headed to the outside yard, where she found her other brother, Malo Junior, lying beak-down in a hammock, his crimson wings drooping all the way to the ground.
“I think Dad is going to call you in soon,” she said.
Malo junior looked up briefly before setting his beak down again. “I forgot to ask – how did your fight go?” His voice was muffled from lying face-down.
Katalia admitted that her opponent’s Push had overwhelmed her. She felt that focusing on Belna had taken away the time she could have been using to learn the Art of the Fist. “I need to find some to teach me real quick. We thought we’d always have Mom to teach me. But…” she sighed; her breath tinged with grief.
Malo Junior now sat cross-legged in the hammock. “Yeah, there really isn’t anyone around to teach you that. Have you talked to Dad?”
She nodded. “He keeps pushing it off, saying I need to focus on the Belna Invitational.”
“Ahh… The trials and tribulations of a PeakBorn,” he teased with a smile.
Later, in the home gym, Katalia watched as Malo Junior went through his Combat Instinct training. He was faster than both she and her other brother. His feet transitioned seamlessly from one position to the next. It all seemed to come naturally to him.
Their father, Malo Senior, was now attaching striking spheres to the Dummy’s hands. The spheres, coated in Pulse cells, had the power to affect all the V-Cores and could trigger someone to go into their Involuntary Duration Cycle.
A few moments later, Katalia squared off against the Dummy again. Somehow, it appeared more menacing this time – perhaps because she knew it could now actually hurt her. The training began, with her father instructing her in their familiar dance.
“Straight. Jab. Hook. Medium Kick.” She followed his commands, moving into the optimal striking range where her Duration Cycle would be most effective. Again and again, she delivered powerful blows.
However, when the Dummy attacked, Katalia found herself slipping and sliding, struggling to maintain her footing. The Dummy struck her repeatedly, and soon the session was over.
“Good work,” her father said as he gathered Katalia and her brothers into a huddle. “We’re making great progress. Always remember the goal: first, I’m certain one of you will win the Belna Invitational. That’s what we aim for in the Mythic Phase. Then in the Still Phase we go for the Tatu Invitational and win that. And then after that go to the WKYE.”
On her way back to her room, Katalia passed by her father’s trophy cabinet. Inside were photos of her parents in their youth, along with a Belna Invitational trophy her father had won in the olden days – he was still the only non-Folk to ever win that tournament. The cabinet also held title belts: the GKYA Iradi Bili Championship belts, which he had won with her mother, and the GKYA Iradi Oja Championship belt, which her mother had won by her own.
Winning a regional Oja title belt back then was a clear path to the top. Katalia often wondered if her mother would have reached the same heights as her aunt. After all, when they were younger, Mariya Feroz was always known to be better than Lucia Feroz. But her mother had given that all away to be part of a team with her dad. And the best they achieved was right in front of Katalia’s beak – a regional Bili title that was only defended four times. In the photos, her mother did look happy and proud though, lifting the titles alongside her father.
Yet Katalia couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Did she want more, like I do?’