Training

The cold floor of my dorm room feels almost reassuringly solid against my back as I lay sprawled out, staring at the ceiling. The footprints - a mocking dance of red and blue - taunt me. Twenty-five steps. That's where I've been stuck for the past week. And for whatever godforsaken reason, I can't move past it. 

"Why the actual fuck can't I nail this step?!" I exclaim, slamming my fist against the floor. The impact sends a slight sting up my hand. Damn, that hurt more than I expected.

Ilka, floating nearby, looks down at me with a mixture of exasperation and barely concealed amusement. "You're still thinking too much. You're anticipating the movement, and that's why you mess up." 

I snort, pulling myself to a seated position. "Well, maybe if someone gave me a little more guidance or, I don't know, actual encouragement, I wouldn't be 'anticipating' anything." All she's been doing is talking shit while laughing at me. 

Her ethereal form shimmers with a sort of iridescent laughter. "I told you from the beginning Kael, this is not a dance routine. This isn't about memorizing movements. It's about feeling them. Being them. So, stop whining and start being one with the technique."

I roll my eyes, pushing up to my feet. "You know, for someone who's supposedly a master, you're pretty shit at pep talks."

Ilka's aura suddenly turns a chilly shade of blue, and the temperature in the room drops a few degrees. "You insufferable little—"

"Hey! Whoa, calm down, ghost lady! I was just joking!" I say hurriedly, raising my hands in a defensive gesture, though the grin on my face might suggest otherwise.

She narrows her eyes at me. "You need to take this seriously Kael. You wanted power. You wanted to master something no one else can. You cannot get there with that half-assed attitude of yours."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Look, I'm trying. Okay? This is just... a lot harder than I thought. I feel like I'm on the verge of a breakthrough, but every time I think I've got it, I trip over my own damn feet."

Ilka softens a bit, her glow returning to its usual warmth. "Do you remember when I performed the footwork on the table?" She floats closer, her form hovering just above the surface.

I nod. "Yeah, when you made me so dizzy, I almost puked."

She lets out a soft chuckle. "Exactly. The footwork isn't just about moving. It's about disorienting, surprising, and taking control of the situation. When you can perform it without thinking, without hesitating, that's when you'll truly understand its power. I know it sounds like basic knowledge but it's not that simple. From what I've seen people in this century don't understand what it means to perform without thinking."

The cool metallic sheen of the table under Ilka's feet contrasts sharply with her glowing form. Standing there, she looks far more imposing than her diminutive stature would suggest. For the first time since I've known her, she emanates a deep-seated aura of confidence, conviction, and authority that goes beyond mere bravado.

She begins, her voice carrying a depth that I hadn't heard before. "Performing without thinking, Kael, is not the same as moving aimlessly or letting your body take over randomly. It's an art that's been lost to time. The people of this era, from what I've observed, have misconstrued the idea. Four thousand years ago, martial artists had an intuitive connection with their bodies and the arts they practiced, a kind of symbiotic relationship where thought and action were one. Now, it's become a disjointed mess."

Her gaze is piercing, her expression a fluid dance between utter confidence and a somewhat cold, almost disdainful look. "I see martial artists today dabbling in multiple forms, mixing and matching techniques without truly understanding the essence or the spirit of any particular art. It's like trying to speak multiple languages without understanding the grammar or context of any."

She pauses, her form shimmering with a momentary burst of brightness. "The body isn't just a vessel. Each martial art is crafted based on certain principles and a deep understanding of the human anatomy. When you adopt techniques from various martial arts without understanding these principles, you are doing a disservice to both your body and the art. It's like pouring different types of fuel into a machine not designed for them."

A hint of coldness creeps into her tone. "Incorporating multiple martial techniques without the foundational understanding affects one's progress. One might see temporary gains or an illusion of skill, but in the long run, it's detrimental. Your body gets confused, torn between different modalities, never truly mastering any."

Ilka's glow dims slightly as she continues, her eyes sharp and probing, "To truly perform without thinking, one must embrace the principles of a martial art so deeply that it becomes ingrained in one's very bones. It must flow through your veins, become part of your essence. Only then can you move with the kind of fluidity and precision that transcends thought."

She takes a deep, albeit unnecessary, breath. A gesture, I guess, to emphasize the weight of her next words. "Every technique, every stance, every movement in martial arts has implications on the body. The way you pivot, the way you breathe, the way you strike – it all aligns with the very structure of the human anatomy. And when you mix techniques without understanding these alignments, the overall performance is compromised. Your body becomes a battleground for clashing principles."

I watch her, captivated. In this moment, I see a side of Ilka I hadn't before. This isn't the mischievous spirit that taunts me or the strict instructor that pushes me to my limits. This is a master martial artist, deeply passionate about her art, lamenting the degradation of its pure form.

I had been on the verge of voicing another one of my sardonic comments, but something about her genuine emotion holds me back. For once, I decide to just listen; this is the first time I've seen her with a genuine smile on her face. She must miss the days when she taught the hero. 

The smirk forming on my lips doesn't escape Ilka's notice, even as she dives deep into her explanation. She abruptly stops, clicking her tongue in annoyance. "What? Why are you smirking? Is my teaching boring you now?"

Chuckling, I retort, "What happened? The lesson was just getting started. Thought you had more energy in that tank of yours."

She lets out a dramatic sigh, then, with all the theatricality of a stage performer, plants her feet firmly on the table. "Tsk, shut it and listen," she commands, her aura pulsating with a mix of authority and mischief.

My amusement doesn't wane, but I nod for her to continue, genuinely curious about what she's getting at.

"Remember that duel Isadora had with that one girl? Lira?... No Liria?... No... Oh, it was Lyria, right?" Ilka asks, her form shimmering as she begins to move.

"Yeah," I reply, nodding, recalling that tense face-off.

Suddenly, she starts to demonstrate Lyria's martial arts, moving with a fluidity that's simply mesmerizing. Hell, it's not just a demonstration; it's an enhancement. Every move, every step, every stance – she perfects it, making it look even better than when Lyria performed it.

"Damn, Ilka!" I exclaim, genuinely impressed. "You just saw that once, and you've not only copied it but improved it?"

Ilka grins, clearly enjoying the moment, her ethereal eyes glinting with pride. "It's not about copying, Kael. It's about understanding."

Without pausing, she transitions seamlessly into another set of movements. I immediately recognize it – Lyria's martial arts technique when she channeled her Ice affinity. But here's the kicker – Ilka's doing it without the ice, and it's smoother, more refined. How the hell is that even possible? From the looks of it, her movements are almost identical to Lyria's movements. 

"That idiotic girl," Ilka starts, not slowing her demonstration. "Lyria was using two martial arts forms that shouldn't be mixed. Look!" She pauses momentarily, emphasizing a particular stance. "This move, it's designed to channel external energy. But when combined with this," she shifts, demonstrating another stance, "which is meant for internal flow, it causes a disruption. It's like trying to mix oil and water. It doesn't work! They conflict and weaken the overall technique."

I'm entranced by her words, seeing the depth of her understanding and knowledge. "But why? What's the big deal if they conflict?"

Ilka, holding her chin for a moment, looks deep in thought. "Imagine two rivers. One flows calmly while the other is turbulent. If you merge them suddenly without considering their natures, what happens? Chaos. The same principle applies to martial arts. Each form has its own rhythm, its own pulse. Merging them thoughtlessly can cause disruptions in the practitioner's internal energy."

After a beat, she suddenly starts moving again, showcasing yet another form. It's fluid, powerful, and meticulously designed. "Now, imagine if Lyria had used this form, one specifically tailored for her affinity and technique. It's harmonious, reinforcing both her external and internal strengths."

I blink, taking a moment to process. "Did you just... create a new martial arts form? Just like that?"

Ilka's smirk is as clear as day. "Why, yes. Yes, I did. But remember, while this might work for Lyria, it won't necessarily be compatible with others. Martial arts are deeply personal. It's not a 'one-size-fits-all' approach."

I'm floored. The level of skill, the depth of understanding, the sheer brilliance of it. "Ilka... I might complain, whine, and joke around, but shit, your mastery is unparalleled."

Her glow intensifies, a soft chuckle echoing in the room. "Well, it's about damn time you acknowledged it. Now, shall we get back to your training? Or do you want to continue gawking at my brilliance?"

Laughing, I reply, "Oh, by all means, let's continue basking in the glow of your ego. But yeah, let's get back to it. I've got a long way to go if I ever hope to be half as good as you."

A sudden shadow falls over me, and before I can react, Ilka's voice sounds right above my head, seething with exasperation. "The reason I showed you this was because you keep going against the flow! Stop trying to copy what I showed you!"

I blink, a little disoriented, only to realize she's floating directly above me. And then, just like that, she drops, landing squarely on my head.

"I only showed you my footwork so you understand the implications behind the technique," she chides, her voice dripping with irritation. I can feel her little ghostly feet digging into my scalp. "You're trying to copy me despite not even knowing half the technique!"

The indignation in her voice gives way to pure annoyance, and I feel sharp tugs on my hair. "Ow! Ow! What the hell, Ilka?!" I yelp, trying to swat her away.

She continues to pull at my hair, her ethereal form somehow manifesting enough force to cause genuine pain. "You'll learn it step by step! Forget what I showed you and focus on THIS! Don't compare this footwork to the footwork I showed you. This is one of many footwork techniques you need to learn before you even THINK of replicating my movements."

My hands are in the air, doing a pathetic dance trying to shield my head, "Okay, okay! I get it! Damn, you're feisty today." I groan, pulling myself upright, rubbing my assaulted scalp.

She floats down, crossing her arms in a very human-like display of annoyance. "Maybe, just maybe, if you actually paid attention and took this seriously, I wouldn't have to get so 'feisty.'"

I let out a long sigh. Damn, she's really pissed at me. "Look, I'll try. But it's more difficult than it sounds. I guess I've been rushing, trying to get my footwork to look as similar to yours as possible." Damn, her attitude really changes when she's teaching. I can't even talk back to her.