The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 21

< Chapter 21 – Muscle and Memory

Chapter 21 – Muscle and Memory

Nevara

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We moved to the center of a padded ring. Ressa bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, relaxed but ready. I mimicked her stance as best I could, fists raised awkwardly.

“Begin,” Kael called.

Ressa came at me fast.

I barely dodged her first jab–pure instinct. My heart launched into my throat as I staggered back, trying to remember anything I’d ever seen in a fight movie.

She didn’t let up. Her second strike clipped my ribs, not hard enough to bruise, but definitely enough to sting.

I gritted my teeth and lunged.

Surprise flickered in her eyes–probably because I didn’t go for a punch. I ducked and swept my leg, trying to take her down.

She jumped it.

Damn.

I swung again. She blocked. Her counter caught my shoulder, spinning me sideways.

I dropped, rolled, and popped back up, fueled more by frustration than training.

We circled each other. Ressa’s mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile. I growled and went in for a

punch. She caught my wrist mid–air, twisted, and brought me to my knees in two seconds flat.

I tapped out, panting.

Kael stepped forward. “Alright. That’s enough.”

Ressa released me, then offered her hand. I took it and stood, brushing dirt from my knees.

“Well?” I asked Kael, breathing hard.

He scratched his chin. “You’ve got quick instincts. Zero technique. But you move like someone who’s had

to fight for her life before. That’ll serve you.”

“That was me fighting for my life.”

Ressa chuckled and gave me a nod. “You’re scrappy. I like it.”

Kael gestured toward the weapon racks. “We’ll do forms next. Don’t worry–I’m not handing you a sword just yet. First we build strength. Then control. Then power.”

I groaned “Sounds exhausting.”

<Chapter 21–Muscle and Mernory

He smirked. “That’s because it will be.”

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Kael didn’t waste time. As soon as we caught our breath, he waved us toward the weapon racks lining the far wall. Spears, staffs, practice swords, weighted sticks. All intimidating in their own way.

“I said no swords yet,” he reminded. “But we’ll start building your foundation. Strength first. Then control. Then power.”

He handed me a short weighted staff. It was heavier than it looked–like holding a solid iron bar wrapped in smooth leather. Ressa took one as well and stood beside me, mirroring Kael’s stance.

“Form drills. Ten repetitions each movement. Watch first, then repeat.”

He moved like liquid stone–graceful, powerful, precise. The staff arced and dropped, angled and jabbed, his body flowing through each strike like it was second nature.

It was beautiful.

And completely overwhelming.

I tried to copy him. My arms burned by the fifth repetition. By the tenth, I was sweating so hard my grip started slipping.

“Breathe through the motion,” Ressa offered quietly, eyes still forward. “Tension wastes energy.”

“Noted,” I panted.

Kael circled us, correcting form, nudging stances, occasionally tapping my shoulders or hips to adjust my posture. His corrections were blunt, but never cruel. And every time I got it right–even a single motion–he nodded once. No fanfare. Just acknowledgment.

After several sets, we paused to stretch. My muscles trembled with the effort.

“You’re doing better than most,” Ressa murmured. “First–timers usually puke or pass out by now.”

I shot her a wry look. “Well, there’s still time.”

Kael clapped once. “Break’s over.”

I groaned, but I stood.

We moved through several more staff forms before he finally called a halt.

“You’ll practice these again every morning after your run,” he said. “Add five more reps every three days. We’ll revisit hand–to–hand once you’re less likely to sprain your own wrist mid–swing.”

“Noted,” I muttered again.

“Now,” he said, walking to the edge of the ring. “Cool–down stretches, then food. You’ve earned it.”

We dropped into a series of long, slow stretches. My limbs shook, but I held the poses, determined not to collapse like a wilted flower in front of Kael’s ever–watchful eyes.

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< Chapter 21 – Muscle and Memory

When we finally rose, sweat–soaked and sore, Kael turned toward me.

“Same time tomorrow. No excuses.”

I nodded, wiping my face. “Five a.m. Got it.”

He looked me over once more, and for a second, his usual steel softened.

“You’ve got heart,” he said. “The rest will come.”

And just like that, he walked away.

Ressa nudged me with her elbow. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever heard him give?

“I’ll take it,” I said with a tired smile.

As I limped back toward the castle, the soreness already setting in, I realized something strange.

I felt good.

Exhausted. Aching. But good.

By the time I made it back to my room, every single step felt like a new personal betrayal from my thighs.

The castle corridor stretched longer than usual. My calves screamed. My arms ached. My wrists

throbbed.

Still, I was proud.

Not of how well I performed–but of how hard I pushed through. No one carried me. No one cut corners. I

did it. All of it.

I didn’t collapse when Kael dismissed me. I didn’t cry, despite Ressa getting me in three separate submission holds in under thirty seconds. I didn’t complain once, even when I thought my legs would give

out.

Not bad for day one.

I reached the chamber door, opened it, and sighed the moment I stepped inside. Warmth greeted me. Fresh clothes were folded neatly on the bed. A tray with a chilled protein smoothie sat on the table, condensation still beading on the glass. But what really caught my eye?

The bath.

Steam drifted lazily from the massive soaking tub.

And beside it?

A brand new bag of epsom salt.

Lavender and eucalyptus.

Blessed goddess.

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