Booster was still on the ground in front of me. Quickly, before he could recover, I chopped at his throat. He fell forward, cursing. While he sputtered, I put a knee in his back. I couldn’t hold him long. I lifted one of his massive arms and grabbed his thumb. I twisted it just as Hosea had showed us. Booster’s shout of pain was like music to me. A second later, he tapped submission. I had won. It was the first and only match I would win against the other trainees.

Our Helix training consisted of long hours on the poles, balancing as Hosea Khan paced before us, explaining the elements of battle.

“Your enemy is not your opponent. Your battle is not against flesh and blood. There are three conflicts to conquer. Confusion,” he tapped his temple. “Fatigue,” he tapped his chest. “And fear,” he rested a hand on his core. “To master the Helix, you must master these. Discipline your mind, determine your strength, and breathe.”

For hours, we stood on the poles. The others complained restlessly and, eventually, Hosea relented, dismissing us to practice with our weapons. Improvement in this area came daily. Booster no longer set trees ablaze with his whip and, sometimes, he formed the ball of his flail.

Hosea constantly cautioned him, shouting across the field. “Moderation!”

Pidge accosted falling leaves. With the tip of his rapier, he carved them into stars before they drifted to the ground, smoking and singed.

Finch, an expert with his staff, was the only one who managed a second form. When he flipped his lance upright and pulled back at the elbow, an axe formed over his shoulder. He held the form for a few elated minutes, as he ran about chopping wood for Fly Man. After, he dropped to his knees, exhausted. Hosea had come forward to rip the weapon from his hand. “Moderation!”

Voltaire learned to alternate her swing so that her nunchucks protected either side of her body. She could also trap a weapon in the chain between her shafts. Both Pidge and Finch had fallen prey to this maneuver while Hosea looked on, nodding approval.

I became good at tossing William’s boomerang. With a split second of calculation, I could hit a bird midflight and knock it from the air. Pidge didn’t set traps for fowl, and Booster didn’t bother with small bounties. So I, alone, provided the camp with poultry. Often, on my way back from a morning run, I would nab a bird for Walker to fry up for our noon meal. Accordingly, the bandits’ respect for me increased.

Despite this, I was the only trainee who had yet to wield the Helix. My Apex remained a cold weight, too heavy to throw more than a few yards. I forced myself to eat, but I rarely slept. Instead, I trained.