Chapter 14

  Raxon trained where no one would think to look.

  The chamber was not a gym, nor a battlefield, nor one of the sanctioned training halls used by Dominion fighters or council elites. It was an old gravitational maintenance vault buried beneath the city's western infrastructure—meant to regulate pressure flow during tectonic stress events.

  It hadn't been used in decades.

  The air was stale. The lighting uneven. The walls were scored with old calibration marks and warnings etched in faded glyphs.

  Perfect.

  Raxon stood at the center of the chamber, shirt discarded, boots planted on cold metal plating. Sweat ran freely down his back, pooling beneath his feet.

  He was already exhausted.

  That was the point.

  He inhaled slowly and shifted into a low Dominion stance—not the aggressive posture taught to most Saiyan fighters, but the rooted one. Weight distributed evenly. Ki pressed downward instead of outward.

  "Again," he muttered.

  He moved.

  No burst.

  No flare.

  Just motion.

  A sequence of strikes flowed from him—measured, precise, deliberately underpowered. Each punch stopped short of full extension. Each kick returned to guard instead of following through.

  He was fighting himself.

  Raxon's ki pulsed with the movement, rising instinctively, then faltering as he suppressed it. He could feel the old habits trying to take over—power seeking release, force wanting to dominate space.

  That's what Caedros counts on, he thought grimly.

  He shifted directions abruptly, pivoting mid-motion, forcing his body to adapt without relying on reflexive bursts. The movement was clumsy. His foot slipped slightly, and he caught himself with a growl.

  Frustration spiked.

  Golden light flickered at the edge of his vision.

  Raxon froze.

  "No," he said aloud, breathing hard. "Not like that."

  He let the flicker die.

  Super Saiyan still lingered somewhere beneath his skin, like a coiled spring—but it refused to answer anything but desperation. Anger alone wasn't enough anymore.

  And maybe it never had been.

  He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders as he reset his breathing. His muscles trembled—not from fatigue, but restraint.

  The door behind him hissed open.

  Raxon didn't turn.

  "You're pushing too hard," Aelyra said.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  He exhaled. "You shouldn't be here."

  She stepped inside anyway.

  Aelyra looked worse than she wanted to admit. Her posture was steady, but her movements were fractionally slower, her Resonant Flow pulled tight and guarded rather than expansive.

  Mae'ren would've objected to her being here at all.

  "I followed your ki," she said. "Or... what's left of its trail."

  Raxon finally turned to face her. "You shouldn't be tracking anything right now."

  She gave him a faint, tired smile. "That's easy for you to say."

  He softened slightly. "How are you really?"

  Aelyra hesitated, then shrugged. "Like I'm walking through water that remembers being ice."

  Raxon grimaced. "I'm sorry."

  She waved it off. "Don't. He wanted this."

  She looked around the chamber. "This is what you've been doing?"

  "Trying not to lose," he replied.

  Aelyra studied him carefully. "You're training around Super Saiyan."

  "Yes."

  "And avoiding resonance spikes."

  "Yes."

  She nodded slowly. "Good."

  Raxon blinked. "You don't think I'm being reckless?"

  "I think you finally stopped chasing the loudest solution," she said.

  She moved to the edge of the chamber and sat, legs drawn in, watching him.

  "Caedros isn't stronger than you," she continued. "He's quieter."

  Raxon clenched his jaw. "I hate that."

  "I know."

  Silence stretched between them, broken only by the low hum of dormant machinery.

  Aelyra spoke again. "Show me what you're trying."

  Raxon hesitated. Then nodded.

  He resumed his stance, this time slower. He didn't attack an imaginary opponent—he moved through space, feeling where his ki wanted to expand and deliberately redirecting it inward.

  Dominion grounding.

  Ascendant flow.

  Hybrid restraint.

  The technique wasn't clean. His ki jittered, pushing against internal limits, seeking release.

  Aelyra closed her eyes.

  "Your ki doesn't trust stillness," she said softly. "You were taught motion equals survival."

  Raxon scoffed. "Because it usually does."

  "Not against Null," she replied. "Null feeds on reaction. On completion."

  She opened her eyes. "You have to learn to leave things unfinished."

  That struck him harder than any blow.

  "Unfinished," he repeated.

  "Yes," Aelyra said. "Half-steps. Broken rhythms. Movements that don't resolve."

  Raxon tried again.

  This time, he threw a punch and stopped it midway—not through strength, but through intention. His ki surged forward automatically, then buckled as it found no release point.

  Pain lanced through his arm.

  He grunted, staggering back.

  Aelyra flinched. "Too much."

  Raxon flexed his fingers, teeth clenched. "But it worked."

  "It almost did," she corrected. "You forced the stop. That still counts as dominance."

  She stood, wincing slightly as she crossed the chamber.

  "Let me show you," she said.

  Raxon hesitated. "You're not ready."

  Aelyra met his gaze. "Neither are you. That's why this matters."

  She positioned herself across from him, feet light, posture relaxed. Her ki shimmered faintly—not expanding, not collapsing, just present.

  "Attack me," she said.

  "Gently," he warned.

  She smiled thinly. "I know."

  Raxon moved.

  Not fast.

  Not slow.

  A simple strike.

  Aelyra didn't block it.

  She redirected it.

  Her Resonant Flow wrapped around his ki—not overpowering it, not canceling it, but bending it just enough that the force slid past her shoulder harmlessly.

  Raxon felt it immediately.

  No resistance.

  No clash.

  Just... absence of consequence.

  "That's it," Aelyra said. "Null works because it denies reaction. Resonance survives by refusing completion."

  Raxon stared at his hand, then at her. "That's not how Saiyans fight."

  "No," she agreed. "It's how they evolve."

  They trained until neither of them could stand properly.

  No explosions.

  No breakthroughs.

  Just repetition. Failure. Adjustment.

  At some point, the chamber lights dimmed automatically, switching to low-cycle mode as night deepened above them.

  Raxon collapsed against the wall, chest heaving.

  Aelyra sat beside him, knees pulled up, head resting lightly against the metal.

  "You're changing," she said quietly.

  "So are you," he replied.

  She glanced at him. "I don't know how long I'll be able to keep up."

  He frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "The council," she said. "They're already discussing restrictions. Monitoring. Reassignment."

  Raxon's jaw tightened. "They won't touch you."

  "They will," she said calmly. "Because I'm visible."

  He clenched his fists. "Then we make ourselves undeniable."

  Aelyra smiled sadly. "That's exactly what Caedros wants."

  Raxon went still.

  "...Then we deny him something else," he said slowly.

  "What?"

  "Predictability."

  She studied him for a long moment.

  Then nodded.

  Above them, the city slept uneasily—unaware that two fighters had just begun rewriting the way Saiyans learned to survive.

  And far away, in silence carefully maintained, Malrith's systems adjusted their projections.

  The Saiyan was no longer chasing power.

  Which made him far more dangerous.