The barn felt different tonight. The air was heavy with anticipation, the faint glow of the lantern casting long shadows on the walls. Rorik stood across from me, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"I want to see how you fight," he said simply, stepping forward. "No weapons. Just your fists."
I swallowed hard, my hands curling into fists at my sides. Rorik was massive, his shoulders broad, his presence imposing. Every instinct told me this was a bad idea, but there was no turning back.
"Alright," I said, my voice steady despite the nerves buzzing in my chest.
Rorik nodded, motioning for me to step forward. "Whenever you're ready."
I took a deep breath, slipping into an orthodox stance. My left foot forward, my guard up, my weight balanced. He watched me, his expression calm, his body loose and relaxed.
He had the reach advantage—that much was obvious. I'd have to close the distance fast, use angles, and draw out his movements with feints.
I darted forward, feinting a jab to his face. His eyes flicked down briefly, and I used the moment to level change, driving my shoulder into his midsection.
It was like hitting a steel wall.
I bounced off him, stumbling back as Rorik barely shifted his weight. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Not bad," he said. "But you'll have to do better than that."
I rolled away, getting back to my feet quickly. My mind raced, recalculating. I needed to keep him guessing.
This time, I went for a jab-cross combination, my fists snapping forward with speed. He blocked them effortlessly, his arms moving like granite pillars. I followed up with a body kick, aiming for his ribs, but he caught my leg mid-air with a practiced ease.
Before I could react, his foot swept out my base, sending me crashing onto my back.
"Stay down," he said, though there was no malice in his tone.
But I wasn't done yet.
Instead of scrambling to my feet, I inverted my body, pulling myself into an ashigarami—a leg entanglement position. My heels found his hips, and I drove them in hard, sweeping his legs out from under him.
Rorik hit the ground with a grunt, surprise flashing in his eyes. I didn't waste a second, transitioning smoothly into a berimbolo, rolling up his body and securing a figure-four body lock around his waist.
My arms snaked around his neck, locking in a rear-naked choke. I squeezed, my muscles straining as I tightened the hold.
For a moment, I thought I had him.
But Rorik wasn't finished.
With a roar, he stood up, his sheer strength lifting me off the ground. He thrashed violently, his hands clawing at my arms, his movements wild and powerful.
I held on as long as I could, but his strength was too much. With one final jerk, he threw me off, sending me tumbling across the barn floor.
I rolled to my feet, my chest heaving, my eyes locked on him.
Rorik straightened, brushing off the dust as he turned to face me. His smirk had returned, his eyes glinting with something that almost looked like approval.
"I wasn't expecting that," he said, his voice laced with amusement.
I didn't respond, my mind still racing from the fight.
"Where did you learn that?" he asked, stepping closer.
I hesitated, the truth catching in my throat. "I… don't know," I said finally. "It just felt… natural. Like I've done it a thousand times before."
Rorik studied me for a moment, his gaze piercing. Then he nodded, a hint of respect in his expression. "You've got instinct. That's good. But instinct alone won't keep you alive out there."
"I'll learn," I said, my voice steady.
He nodded again. "Good. We'll work on it."
As he turned to leave, I let out a slow breath, the tension draining from my body. My arms ached, my legs were shaky, but a small flicker of pride burned in my chest.
I'd held my own. Barely, but I had.
And as I watched Rorik walk away, I couldn't help but feel that I'd taken another step toward the person I needed to become.