[SE] [Training] from the ground up

we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead

In the streets of Haulani stands the large skeleton of a building. Its stone framework is still sturdy, its frames and archways more than suitable to hold windows and doors; as some would say, the bones are good. And that's all Ronin needs to suit his purposes, honestly. There might be hole in the roof crawling with ivy and the interior might be little more than char and ash, but fuck, he'll make it work. He has to. 

The heat in the air is stifling at this time of day, and though there's plenty of shadow to hide in, Ronin is still sweating as he rolls out the blueprint he'd drawn up the day before. A training hall in the making - currently little more than a gutted nothing of a building, granted - and a place for people to come and learn or teach others. It's something he's been intending to make for a while, and finally, perhaps, he's been given the push he needs to do it.

Weighing down one edge of the blueprint with an axe, of call things, to stop the parchment from curling back up, and a rock on the other side, Ronin straightens and huffs out a long, slow breath, pondering on where exactly he ought to begin.

THE WHITE KNIGHT

and continue fighting

Theea

resilient little thing, just like mama raised you

It’s the kind of heat that sticks to your skin like honey, slow and smothering. Even with my hair yanked into a ponytail and wearing the loosest top I own—thin straps, open sides, still not enough—I can feel the sweat prickling down my spine. The shorts I’m in are new, or new-ish, and I keep tugging at the hem even though they’re not that short. My strappy sandals from Flora’s party tap lightly against the sun-warmed stone as I wander, a half-smile tugging at my mouth.

Torchline always feels a little like breathing out. The color, the noise, the salt on the air—it’s all summer and memory, and something like freedom. Mom and Dad were always… happier here. Less haunted. We only stayed a few times, but I still remember the tiny beach shack: weather-worn porch, cracked tile kitchen, the smallest bedroom I’ve ever curled up in. I’ve thought about trying to find it again, maybe fix it up.

I’m mid-thought when I spot it—the skeleton of a building. Not abandoned, not exactly. There’s movement in the ruins, and for a moment I think it’s just a construction crew. But then I see him.

Ronin.

It takes a second to process that yes, that’s him again, brow furrowed over a rolled-out blueprint. An axe holds one corner down, and a rock the other. He's a bit of a sweaty mess—as much as I am—but in that storybook-hero kind of way. Which makes sense. He is a hero from my bedtime stories. Literally.

I haven’t seen him since our whirlwind introduction at his barbeque. My heart kicks up like it wants to bolt, but my feet don’t move. Not away, at least. Swallowing hard, I glance once at the building behind him. It’s gutted, overgrown. A shell. But it looks like potential. So I step forward, slowly, sandals crunching faintly against the street.

“Is this place a story I’ve never heard,” I ask, voice a little more shy than I want it to be, “or something new?”

so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know

we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead

Ronin jumps a little at the sound of the voice, already turning towards it as he straightens up. And at first glance, he sees her again - Ashetta standing in the sun-dappled doorway, as if walking out of a memory. But then he blinks and she's gone, and in her place? Her daughter, he now knows. Theea. "Hi," he blurts out, as if he hadn't gone searching for the assassin in the days after meeting her daughter out on the beach; as if that quick introduction hadn't been replaying itself in his mind whenever he let his attention wander for too long.

Clearing his throat and raking a hand back through hair still mostly dark but going snowy around the temples, Ronin gestures to the empty space with a self-deprecating shrug. "Both, maybe?" he confesses. "This place used to be a boxing ring. It belonged to an old friend of mine, but it burned down some years ago. I'm thinking of renovating the place, turning it into a training arena." A story she may have never heard becoming something new.

"Are you," Ronin begins, before catching himself and trying again. "I don't feel like we got to meet properly, before." Stepping forward, he holds out a hand. "I'm Ronin. I think I count as your uncle."

THE WHITE KNIGHT

and continue fighting

Theea

resilient little thing, just like mama raised you

The way he looks at me—it’s not really me, not at first. I see it in the flicker of his eyes, the quick shift like he’s caught between this moment and another. And I know. It’s her he’s seeing. My mother, stepping out of the sun and into his memory.

I can’t blame him. But it still makes my stomach twist with a feeling I can’t name.

I look down for a second, then back up as he speaks, grateful when the moment slips past like a breeze. When he calls it a training arena, something old becoming something new, my eyes brighten despite myself. I glance past him to the building again—ruined, sure, but promising. It has that waiting for its next chapter look.

“A training arena,” I echo, stepping closer, letting my grin tug back into place. “That’s kind of perfect. I’ve been looking for somewhere to train. Preferably with fewer wild animals and more roof. And... No punching bags for me.” A beat, looking at the hole in the roof. “Though I won’t be picky about the roof.”

Then he stops, pivots, and offers his hand with that easy kind of charm people always talk about when they mention him. I take it before I can overthink it.

Mine’s trembling. Fantastic.

“Theea,” I say, as if he doesn’t already know. I squeeze his hand once, firm like I practiced, even though my heart’s doing a small war drum impression. “But yeah, you probably guessed that. Mom—Ashe—always called you my uncle. She never stopped calling you her brother—capital B, very official.”

And then it spills out before I can catch it.

“I’ve been really excited to meet you.” The silence after is about a second too long, and I can feel my face heating up. So I cover it the only way I know how—“No pressure or anything, but you’re basically a living legend in my life, so if I pass out, that’s why.”

I flash him a crooked, self-deprecating grin.

so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know

we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead

"Mm," Ronin hums his agreement with a brightening smile, turning to examine the building as if with fresh eyes. "Ah, you are? That's pretty perfect, then. I used to be captain of training, back where your mother and I were originally from. I don't think it ever really left me, even if I've been countless things since." Flashing her a rueful grin, he steps back a fraction as if to examine the hole in the roof a little better. "Might make a good feature if I'm smart about it," he jokes. "Climbing practice, that sort of stuff."

Turning back to Theea as if he's not noticed the soft tremor in her hand, Ronin raises his eyebrows and doesn't try to disguise the quiet affection to hear that Ashe had spoken of him. "Remi and I owe your mother everything," he says with an air of soft reverence. "It was always an honour to be considered her brother. Just as it's an honour to welcome you into this branch of the family."

But then Theea keeps going, Ronin tilting his head a fraction to the side and trying to stop his smile from running away with him. (He's mostly unsuccessful). "I'm really hopeful you don't pass out," he ventures with a playful scrunch of his nose. "But if you do, I'll blame it on the heat, I promise."

THE WHITE KNIGHT

and continue fighting

Theea

resilient little thing, just like mama raised you

The moment he says captain of training, my smile deepens—warm, genuine.

“I know,” I say, a touch of pride slipping into my voice. “She told me a story once about this completely chaotic game of capture-the-flag you ran for a bunch of them. I don’t even think she finished the story before she started laughing so hard she had to sit down.”

The memory makes me grin, but it fades a little as the conversation shifts, softening into something more complicated. At the mention of Ashe, of what she meant to him and Remi, I glance away briefly, my fingers brushing the edge of a broken windowsill like it might steady me.

“I wish she saw it that way.” My voice is quieter now, touched with that kind of affection that hurts just a little. “She believes she’s some kind of pariah. Like she broke too many things to be welcome again.”

I shrug a little, but it’s not careless. It’s careful. Hopeful.

“I’m hoping she’ll be brave enough to join me out here. To make peace. Especially now that…” I trail off, then shake my head gently as I go on, “she’s alone, unless you count Percy and Soot. I think she misses everyone more than she knows what to do with.”

I try to summon another joke, something easy and light, but it doesn’t quite stick the landing.
“Anyway, I don’t do great without someone to spar with. My imaginary opponents are starting to make me develop bad habits, like forgetting to wrap my knuckles and accidentally punching my roommate in the face.”

I huff a soft laugh, but it drops off quickly into clearing my throat.

so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know

we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead

Unable to help himself, Ronin lets out a warm laugh at the memory. It feels like a different time, a different him to have arranged that particular training session, the Knight giving a sheepish shrug of his shoulders and rubbing at the back of his neck. "Those were the days," he agrees. "I miss when that was the most I had to worry about. Training regimes, practice dummies, asking Remi if he knew how to make fireworks..." Sighing, it's with fondness in his expression that he turns back to Theea - and at any tidbit of information about Ashe, his attention seems to sharpen.

"Well that's a silly thing for her to think," he says, quiet but genuine in his affectionate admonishment. "Especially if she's alone. But... I know your mother, and if she doesn't want to be found, nothing will move her until she decides she's ready. If you see her, though... feel free to pass on our love, yeah?" 

Huffing out a long sigh, Ronin does his best to shake off the cobwebs of the past to glance back around at the soon-to-be training arena. At Theea's casual addition about punching her roommate in the face, he barks out a laugh. "That doesn't sound like a good way to make friends. You want me to give you a few pointers? Since we're here and all."

THE WHITE KNIGHT

and continue fighting

Theea

resilient little thing, just like mama raised you

My smile flickers again at the warmth in his voice—the easy kind of laughter that belongs to someone who’s lived through fire and still finds reasons to laugh anyway. There’s something comforting about it. Like maybe I’m not so far from home after all.

When he calls my mother’s thinking silly, I let out a quiet breath. Not quite a laugh, but close. It’s nice to hear someone else say it—like I’m not the only one who still sees the good in her, even if she can’t always see it in herself.

“I’ve been leaving messages,” I say softly, rubbing the back of my neck. “In places I know she goes. Little notes, tucked away where only she’d find them.”

I almost say it. Almost blurt out that I asked her to come to the anniversary party, that maybe—just maybe—she’ll be there. But I hesitate. I don’t know how much Ronin knows. If he’s been told. If he’s involved. If it would complicate something.

So instead, I pivot just slightly, eyes back on him.

“They disappear, usually. So I think she gets them. Remi said he’d give me a feather next time, to send with the note.” My voice is a little quieter again. “Something soft to remind her she’s still wanted.”

I let the moment settle, then pull myself up straighter, flashing him a brighter smile that’s far easier to hold.

“Anyway,” I say, nudging the mood upward with practiced ease, “you really don’t have to ask me twice. Getting pointers from you? That’s basically a brag for life.”

I grin, stepping toward the center of the ruined space with a gleam in my eye that’s all real now, no mask needed. “Alright, Uncle Hero. Show me what I’m doing wrong?”

so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know

we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead

"Yeah? Well... if it isn't going to be breaching the trust between you and you're so inclined, perhaps you could accidentally let slip one of those places...?" Ronin's smile is devious, almost boyish in its mischief. What harm would it be for an old friend to receive mail, right? Especially if she's already going to be picking up notes from her daughter.

Theea's decision to keep quiet is a wise one, when it comes to the party, because (as with a lot of things, even now) Ronin is cheerfully oblivious about it all - and as she speaks again, the Knight only softens further to hear about his husband's contribution, his expression turning quietly lovestruck. "I'll add one of my own, in that case," he says. "Just be careful with it. It shouldn't cause issues, but it is a phoenix feather, so... you never know."

But the conversation moves swiftly on, and Ronin is already stepping further into the abandoned building, finding a suitable space in the shade for them to move about one another without being blinded by the light streaming in through the hole in the roof. "A brag for life?" He scoffs affectionately. "Hardly. If you do come to use this place when it's up and running, you'll be cursing me in no time."

Brushing off his clothes and settling easy into a defensive stance, he raises one hand palm up as if to give her a target. "Show me what you've got."

THE WHITE KNIGHT

and continue fighting

Theea

resilient little thing, just like mama raised you

I hesitate.

Not because I don’t want to tell him, but because it’s hers. Mine, too, but only because she let it be. The idea of sharing even a sliver of that makes something flutter nervously in my chest—but when I glance at him, all I see is warmth. That mischievous, boyish grin, like he’s asking me to sneak out and cause trouble with him.

So I nod, just once.

“There’s a palm tree,” I say. “Split down the middle from lightning, ages ago. Right at the edge of the beach.” I glance toward the coastline, though it’s out of sight from here. “There’s a hollow near the base where the bark curls back. That’s where I leave the notes most often. I can show you later.”

My voice softens. “It was always the signal. That we were close to the beach shack. I haven’t found it yet.”

Then he offers to send a phoenix feather too, and something in me just… melts.

The way his expression shifts at the mention of Remi—how easily love settles over his face like it lives there—I think I finally understand why my mother never stopped calling them her family.

“She’s going to lose her mind,” I say with a sudden grin, eyes shining. “Even if she doesn’t show up—just seeing that? Getting feathers from you and Remi? That’s going to mean more to her than she’ll ever say.”

The gratitude is thick in my throat, but I don’t try to say it. I just hope it shows in my smile.

Then, gratefully, I follow him deeper into the half-built arena, toward the shaded patch of floor where light spills in uneven shafts through the hole above. It’s warm and quiet, the kind of place that feels like it’s waiting for something to begin.

When he takes up a stance and offers his hand as a target, my nerves kick up all over again.

“Okay,” I murmur, giving a small, uncertain nod as I shake out my hands. “Here we go.”

I square up. Shoulders aligned, feet balanced—not bad. Years of practice tighten my form, even if my fingers twitch a little. Then I throw the first punch.

Pop.

Knuckles strike the center of his palm. Not too soft. I throw another. Then a third. My strikes land with clean rhythm—focused, practiced. I’ve been trained well.

But there are flaws.

My right elbow flares just slightly on the pullback. My footwork drifts when I reset. Small things. Enough to get me hurt in the wrong kind of fight. But I’m breathing steady, eyes locked on his like I’m trying not to smile.

“Be honest,” I say after the next hit. “How much did that make you want to correct me immediately? Hand-to-hand is probably my weakest point.” I know dad would have been picking it apart.

so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know

we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead

Ronin sees the hesitation but pretends not to, leaving it up to Theea as to whether she trusts him with a near sacred location when it comes to her mother. But as she speaks of the lightning scarred palm, he can't help but let a smile creep across his face; of course it would be lightning. He nods gently. "If I see it, I'll pretend I didn't," he promises. "But if your mother asks you about some extra care packages she might receive, just... say they're from you, yeah?"

Winking and rolling his shoulders as they prepare to spar, Ronin lets out a quiet laugh. "It would be a lot more than feathers if she'd just show her face," he says, before it's here we go and his expression sharpens into something more focused, taking into account her strikes, her stance, the rhythm of the blows and the wiry strength behind them. He catches them with the ease of any training glove, though he won't deny that he'll definitely have to invest in some when the arena opens officially.

"You're trained well. But then that was never really a question," he remarks, straightening up and grinning as he steps across at her. "No one is ever going to be perfect 100% of the time. Be careful of this elbow, and watch your feet. Hand-to-hand is a favourite of mine, so if you ever want to practice, I'm always available. Now - again. Just once, this time - wherever you like - and like you mean it."

THE WHITE KNIGHT

and continue fighting

Theea

resilient little thing, just like mama raised you

"Maybe she will soon," I say to his comment on the feathers. "I hope she will, now that I'm here."

His corrections come with that easy confidence, the kind that comes from experience instead of ego, and I find myself nodding almost before he finishes speaking. There’s a flash of sheepishness in my expression—he caught exactly what I already knew was off—but the reaction is quick, trained, automatic. I shake out my arms, adjust my stance to what I know is more correct. More difficult, but correct.

“Right,” I say, shifting my weight the way my mother used to make me repeat a hundred times. “Elbow in more. Feet grounded better.”

I glance up at him when he offers the next instruction. Just once. Wherever I like. Like I mean it.

That’s the hard part.

I pause—not because I don’t want to hit him, but because something in me still hesitates. He’s Ronin Taliesin. He’s survived more hardships than I’ve had birthdays. And even though he’s standing there with a relaxed grin and an open stance, some part of me is still whispering, What if you mess it up? What if you look like a kid playing at being strong?

But then I look at him again, and something steadies.

I’m not going to hurt him. Not even close. He can take it—and more importantly, he asked for it. Maybe I will look like a kid playing at being strong, but I hold what Deimos reminded me of close: everyone starts somewhere.

So I move.

Quick and smooth, no warning, the way dad used to say was the point. I shift my weight and throw a tight, focused punch, angled just under the ribs with all the strength I’ve got. Clean, precise, no wasted motion.

so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know

we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead

"Mm, so do I," Ronin admits in a soft voice, before he shakes off the old nostalgia and focuses instead on the here and now. Theea takes his pointers with the casual grace of someone who had already known what he was going to say, and that doesn't surprise him either, a smile kicking up the corner of his mouth. "I'm starting to think that you may have punched your roommate for good reason rather than by accident," he admits with a chuckle. "You spar well."

And it's precisely because of that compliment that Ronin already braces himself for the blow he can feel coming. He forces his body to remain still when Theea moves, despite instinct and muscle memory wanting to pivot and twist and dodge out of the way, and a soft huff of breath hitches in his lungs when she connects. Coughing out a laugh and inclining his head in approval, he takes a step back and gestures for her to go again.

"That's good. Now let's see what you've really got," he invites. "This time, though, I hope you won't mind if I respond."

THE WHITE KNIGHT

and continue fighting

Theea

resilient little thing, just like mama raised you

He takes the hit with hardly a huff of air, and I try not to feel the flash of guilt. It was easy with my parents, harder with other people for some reason. He mentions how I punched Soh, and my ears turn red. ”Trust me, that was an accident. Sohalia was innocent.”

He laughs, and I feel it in my chest like a spark catching, and I grin back. But then he says he’s going to respond, and something tightens behind my ribs.

“Right, not a problem,” I chirp.

I’ve taken plenty of hits—real ones. Mom never pulled punches when she was training me. Dad didn’t either, when I was younger. They always said if I was going to survive out in the world, I needed to know what it felt like. So I do.

Still, there’s a different kind of pressure when it’s him. But I don’t let it slow me.

I exhale, hard and short through my nose, and move.

One pivoting step to the left—half a feint, not quite committed—just enough to test whether he bites. Then I drive forward, low and fast, shoulder down and core tight, my fist angling up to strike just beneath the breastbone. It’s clean, sharp, designed to knock the wind out of someone if I’m lucky.

There’s no fear in the swing—just focus. I plant my feet, twist through my hips, and aim to connect.

so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know