Chiron
I watched from the shadows, his eyes tracking Lachlan's every movement. The kid had shown up, just as he'd promised. Midnight. His stance was unsteady, his body language screaming uncertainty. But Chiron wasn't worried. That would change.
He'd seen it in Lachlan the moment they first met—raw potential buried beneath layers of doubt, anger, and confusion. People like him didn't often realize their own strength, didn't understand the power they held within them. And it wasn't just physical. The anger inside him, the feeling of being lost, all of that could be channeled into something far more dangerous—if Lachlan could learn to control it. If he could learn how to focus.
Chiron stepped forward, his boots silent on the cracked concrete of the old warehouse. It was the perfect place for this kind of training—isolated, gritty, with the faint scent of old oil and dust lingering in the air. The walls here had seen violence, seen people who had been broken and rebuilt. It wasn't glamorous, but it was real.
Lachlan looked up as Chiron approached, his eyes wary but curious. "You're here," Chiron said, his voice calm, even, as always.
"Yeah," Lachlan muttered, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I'm here. So, what now?"
Chiron smiled. "You listen. You learn. And you stop thinking you can do this on your own. You need someone to guide you."
Lachlan's jaw tightened, a clear sign that he didn't like being told what to do, but he didn't argue. Good. A little defiance was fine. It would make the training more interesting.
"Alright," Chiron continued, moving to a nearby crate and picking up a pair of worn boxing gloves. "First, we'll start with the basics. But don't get comfortable. I'm not here to hold your hand. You'll work harder than you ever have in your life. And it won't be easy."
He tossed the gloves to Lachlan, who caught them awkwardly, almost like he wasn't sure how to put them on. Chiron raised an eyebrow but said nothing. That hesitation would disappear soon enough.
"Put those on," Chiron said. "Then get in your stance. I'll show you how to throw a punch."
Lachlan did as he was told, though the gloves seemed to weigh more than he expected. He fumbled a bit, but eventually got them on and stood in a half-hearted guard, his feet too close together, his fists too low. Chiron took a step back, assessing.
"You're not here to play," Chiron said, his voice colder now. "You're here to learn to defend yourself. To survive. This stance, this posture—it's weak. You leave yourself open to attack. Your fists are low. You'll get hit before you can land a punch. Your balance is off."
Lachlan scowled, but Chiron didn't care about the look. He was used to it. He wasn't here to coddle him. "Move your left foot back a little. Keep your weight centered, knees slightly bent. Right hand up, protect your face. Left hand in front, ready to jab. Move."
Lachlan shifted his feet, his movements slow and awkward. Chiron didn't offer more direction at first, letting the kid figure it out on his own.
"Better. But you're still thinking about it too much. It has to be instinct. You can't afford to think. It has to be muscle memory, a reflex."
Chiron stepped forward quickly, making a quick jab toward Lachlan's face. Lachlan flinched back, raising his gloves defensively but barely managing to block the strike. He stumbled slightly, caught off guard by Chiron's speed.
"That's exactly what happens if you don't get your guard right," Chiron said, his tone sharp. "You'll get hit. You'll flinch. And in that moment, you lose. You need to stay steady. Trust your instincts. Get back in position. This time, when I jab, don't hesitate. Block it."
Lachlan squared up again, his breathing a little faster now. The adrenaline was starting to pump through his veins. That was good. Chiron had pushed him to that point quickly, and now it was time to see if he could handle it.
Chiron moved in again, faster this time, throwing a quick jab. This time, Lachlan was ready, his gloves coming up just in time to deflect the strike. It wasn't a perfect block, but it was better. A small victory.
"Good," Chiron said, his voice softening just a touch. "That's the first step. Now we build on it."
They spent the next few hours like that—slow, deliberate repetition. Chiron didn't let up. Lachlan's movements improved, but it was clear he was still holding something back. His hits weren't fully committed, his movements lacked power. There was hesitation in everything he did, as if he was afraid of something, afraid to really let go.
Chiron could see it. The kid had fear. But it wasn't the fear of losing. No, this was deeper. It was the fear of being vulnerable, of trusting himself enough to truly fight. Lachlan didn't yet believe in his own strength.
Chiron paused, standing a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the kid with cold, calculating eyes. "You're not fully in it, Lachlan. You're holding back."
Lachlan wiped sweat from his forehead, breathing hard but still looking defiant. "I'm not holding back," he shot back. "I'm just... learning."
Chiron tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "You're afraid. You're afraid of what happens when you fully commit. But that's where your power lies. If you can't face that fear, you'll never be able to fight properly. Fear will hold you back every time. Do you understand?"
Lachlan stared at him for a moment, uncertainty clouding his features. He didn't answer, but Chiron didn't need him to. He could see the doubt, the struggle behind his eyes. This was the hardest part—teaching someone to trust their own strength, to let go of the fear that kept them trapped in a cage of their own making.
Chiron took a step forward, his tone softer, though still firm. "You're not weak, Lachlan. But you have to believe that. You have to trust yourself. If you want to survive what's coming... if you want to protect yourself, you need to stop holding back."
Lachlan took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, and for a moment, there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. The guard went up a little higher, his stance steadier, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.
Chiron nodded once, a faint approval in his gaze. "Better. Now, let's see what you've got."
And as they continued, Chiron could feel it—the shift, the slight but unmistakable change in Lachlan's energy. The kid wasn't there yet, not by a long shot. But he was starting to get it. The first step was always the hardest. And Lachlan, despite his doubts, was taking it.
It wouldn't be easy. But Chiron had never expected it to be. He had faith in the kid. He'd make him believe in himself yet. He had too.
Lachlan
The weight of the boxing gloves is unfamiliar, but it's not the gloves that are throwing me off. It's the whole damn situation. I'm standing in an abandoned warehouse, sweat trickling down my back, Chiron watching me like I'm some kind of project he's trying to fix. There's a part of me that wants to tell him to go to hell, to walk away from this, but something keeps me here. Something about the way he looks at me. Like he knows exactly who I am—and who I could be.
"Alright, Lachlan," Chiron says, his voice low and calm. "Get in your stance."
I raise my fists, trying to remember what he told me earlier. Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent. Right hand protecting my face, left hand out. Simple, right? I try to find balance in my feet, shifting my weight, but it feels awkward. Like I'm trying to be someone I'm not.
Chiron's gaze is unwavering, studying me like a hawk sizing up its prey. He doesn't speak for a while, just stands there watching, making me uncomfortable with his silence. Finally, he steps forward, closing the distance between us in a few long strides.
Before I even have a chance to react, he throws a punch. Quick. Precise. It's like lightning.
I barely manage to lift my gloves in time to block, and I feel the force of his strike vibrate through my arms. It stings, but I don't back down. I stumble back, but I don't fall. My breath is heavy, my chest tightening with each inhale. I want to snap, want to shout at him, tell him he's not taking this seriously, but I don't.
He steps back, eyes narrowed, watching me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to figure out. He doesn't say anything. The silence is deafening.
"That was a block," he says, his voice cool and measured. "But it wasn't good enough. You need to be faster. More precise. You left your head open."
I grit my teeth. I know he's right. But it doesn't make it any easier to hear.
"You're holding back," he adds, his tone changing just a bit. There's a slight edge to it now. "You're too scared to commit. You're letting fear get in the way of your instincts."
Fear. The word sticks to my mind like glue. But I can't deny it. There's a part of me that's afraid—afraid of being too aggressive, afraid of losing control. Hell, part of me's afraid of the kind of person I might become if I let myself go all in.
"I'm not afraid," I mutter, even though I know he can see through the bullshit. I'm not stupid.
Chiron doesn't react. He just stands there, watching me, waiting for me to admit what he already knows.
"Your stance is weak. You've got your weight too forward, your hands too low. You're leaving yourself exposed. You need to protect yourself—really protect yourself. Like your life depends on it. Because it does." His words cut through me.
I don't want to feel the way I do. I don't want to feel like I'm out of my element. But that's exactly what's happening. Every time I try to focus, I feel like something's slipping away, like I'm not in control of what's happening. The whole thing feels like I'm trying to play a game where I don't know the rules, and the stakes are higher than I'm prepared for.
Chiron isn't done, though. He moves, suddenly and without warning, closing the gap between us with that same relentless speed. Another jab comes at me, and this time I can see it coming. I bring my gloves up, but the force behind it is too much. My arms shake from the impact, and I stagger back again.
"Better," Chiron mutters, his eyes glinting with something like approval. "But it's not enough. You're too hesitant. You've got the ability, but you're too afraid to use it."
I shake my head, frustration boiling inside me. "I'm not afraid."
Chiron steps back, sizing me up with a look that makes me feel smaller than I'd care to admit. "Then stop holding back," he says, his voice low, but there's an unmistakable challenge in it.
I feel my jaw tighten. I'm not some soft kid who's afraid of a fight. I've been in scraps before, but nothing like this. Nothing where it's my own damn survival on the line. I think about all the times I've backed down, all the times I've let things happen to me instead of taking control.
I glance at Chiron, meeting his gaze. There's something in his eyes—something that says he knows exactly what I'm thinking. And damn it, I don't want him to be right. But I know he is.
I take a deep breath, trying to focus. I can feel the sweat sliding down my face, my gloves growing heavier with each minute that ticks by. But I can't back down. I won't.
Chiron steps forward again, faster this time. The punch comes. But this time, something shifts. I don't hesitate. I throw my guard up, and my body reacts before my mind even has time to process. My gloves meet his fist with a thud. It's not perfect, not by a long shot. But it's enough.
"Good," Chiron says, stepping back and giving me a small nod. "You're starting to get it. But you're still holding back. You need to trust yourself more."
I wipe the sweat from my brow, breathing hard. "I'm trying."
He doesn't say anything, just watches me, as if waiting for me to figure it out. But I know he's right. It's not just about the punches or the moves. It's about letting go of the fear. Letting go of the parts of myself I'm too scared to face.
I stare at him for a moment, feeling something click inside me. Maybe this is the first step. Maybe this is how I stop letting life happen to me. Maybe, just maybe, I can learn how to fight. Not just physically, but mentally. To stop holding back.
I square my shoulders, ready for whatever comes next.
"Again," Chiron says.
And this time, I don't hesitate.