Oblivion's Throne-Chapter 57: The Rhythm of the Wraith

Back in the present.

The steam curled like silver ghosts across the edge of the glass, swallowing the sleek lines of the private bath chamber. Showers aboard Confederacy vessels weren't indulgent. They were pressurized, water-efficient, and tuned to keep soldiers clean without wasting time or resources.

But Orion wasn't thinking about any of that.

He had both arms braced against the tile wall, head lowered, water rolling down his spine like a slow current. His breath came slow. His mind wasn't here.

It was back in the training hall. Back in the blur of bruises and movement and memory.

The six forms looped in his thoughts like old combat data stuck on replay: Veiled Fang. Phantom Spiral. Descent. Return. Mirage. Severance.

They were amazing movement for a five years old to come up with.

But they were still missing.

And then—mid-shower, mid-thought—it just clicked.

His eyes flicked open. Water streamed off his lashes.

He whispered, "Wait..."

He pushed off the wall, confused but certain. The realization came like a slap of cold air.

He wasn't supposed to force the transitions between forms.

Orion was trying to implement Keiran's principles—fluid transitions, sharp discipline, and momentum control—techniques traditionally executed with a sword.

He was attempting to force those same philosophies onto the Wraith, his hybrid weapon. But the more he tried, the more he sensed a misalignment. It wasn't just a mechanical issue—it was deeper than that. He gritted his teeth, adjusting his grip on the weapon, muttering under his breath,

"Why isn't it working?" No matter how hard he drilled the forms, no matter how closely he followed Keiran's methods, something integral was always missing.

"This isn't the same rhythm," he whispered, frustrated. "Each one has its own beat... in a way." That realization hit. The sword and the Wraith were fundamentally different weapons, and each demanded to be played on its own terms.

The sword's weight being always balanced allowed for an easy transitions however Orion neglected the fact the his hybrid weapon is not balanced that's why the transition's seems forced.

It was trying to punch from a weird angle.

He shut the shower off with a quick hand command. The hiss died instantly, replaced by silence and a heartbeat hammering in his ears.

He grabbed the nearest towel and half-dried himself in a rush, face, neck, chest. Then he bolted out of the chamber, towel flapping behind him until it just gave up and fell.

Didn't matter.

His training spear was right where he left it—propped against the wall of his room.

Still completely naked, he grabbed it.

And moved.

Veiled Fang came first—sharp, but light. He pivoted and spun into Phantom Spiral. The motion looped straight into Descent, but he wasn't thinking anymore.

He was feeling it.

He wasn't dragging his body through the forms. Return flowed smoothly from a Passing strike. Mirage came so easily if he switched his stance to a pivot. Severance had to be performed against a large number of enemies.

Orion let out something between a laugh and a shout, breathless and elated. He stood there, dripping wet, chest rising and falling.

"YEEAAHH—!" he yelled at no one in particular, grinning like an idiot.

Then came a yawn so wide it made him wobble in place. Adrenaline wore off fast.

He staggered, still holding the spear over his head like he was trying to summon a storm, naked and half asleep.

That's when he heard it.

The door hissed open.

Boots on metal.

A voice rang out, sharp and tense. "Young master! Which way did the intruder flee?"

Orion spun around, the spear still held high.

A woman stood in the doorway, halfway through drawing her sidearm, eyes scanning the room with the precision of someone used to reacting before thinking.

And then she saw him.

Fully nude, standing in a puddle, water still dripping from his hair, holding a spear like some feral statue of an ancient war god—if war gods had no shame that is.

She didn't move.

Her eyes blinked once. Then narrowed. Her hand stopped mid-draw.

"...The hell," she muttered, eyes narrowing.

Orion blinked back at her, unfazed. "Who are you, woman? You're the only intruder here."

She didn't lower her weapon. Her jaw tightened.

"I'm assigned by your father to be your bodyguard" she said coldly.

His father?

Orion frowned. That didn't make sense. "Since when does bodyguards barge into rooms?"

"I didn't barge," she shot back. "The security system gave me access. It pinged you were under threat."

"From who? The steam?" Orion deadpanned.

She didn't smile. "We're wasting time, your father would receive the same notification, please get dressed."

Orion pointed at her with the tip of the spear. "You just walked in on me doing a revelation, and I'm wasting time?"

She stared at him flatly.

"Get dressed," she said. "You've got five minutes to report the situation or I will get into trouble."

Orion finished tugging on his shirt, still damp from the shower, and glanced toward the door where Sylvie had vanished.

He walked over to his desk, still dripping slightly, grabbed his commband, and tapped the interface. A screen flickered on.

"Rylan," he muttered, fingers tapping out the secure channel.

A few seconds later, Rylan's voice came through, crisp and just a little smug.

"Ori. Long time no see," Rylan said, voice filled with warmth.

Orion didn't waste time. "Who the hell is that bodyguard?"

There was a pause.

"You met her already?" Rylan asked, voice now mildly surprised.

"She kicked in my door while I was naked and mid-form with a spear," Orion said flatly. "So yeah. We've been introduced."

Rylan laughed. "Stars, you're serious."

"Dead serious," Orion muttered. "She drew a gun on me."

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

Orion could hear the sound of a few keyboard keys being pressed, although most people used either voice to text or HUD keyboards, Rylan liked the sound of mechanical keys.

"Well," Rylan said, still amused, "to be fair, motion sensors flagged high-impact movement in a secured space. Pretty sure the security system thought someone was assassinating you."

"I was having a moment, Rylan," Orion said, exasperated.

"Right. A moment. With your thing out," Rylan quipped.

Orion sighed. "Focus. Who is she?"

The amusement drained from Rylan's tone. "Her name's Sylvie. Your father sent her. She's your personal escort for the duration the next two years."

"I have Varun, though," Orion said, frowning.

"Varun's a monster, not gonna lie. Sylvie's... different. She's from the Pythea Initiative."

That stopped Orion cold.

"...You're serious," Orion said, voice low.

"Yeah. Top of her group. She's only been in the system for about eighteen months, but she's already punching way past projected benchmarks."

"She's that good?" Orion asked quietly, the question more rhetorical than curious.

"She could go toe to toe with a Dominion Ascendant and walk away alive. You know what that means."

Orion exhaled, leaning back against the desk. "Yeah. That means she's just below a Transcendent."

He rubbed his face with both hands. "She doesn't look the part."

Orion stared at the blank screen on his wall.

"She doesn't need to," Rylan said. "She's not here to babysit. She's here to keep you alive. Cassian personally requested her. That alone should tell you something."

Orion let out a slow breath. "Alright. I'll play nice."

There was a moment of silence before Rylan added, "Also, I recorded your comms. So if you don't treat her right, I'll post your naked spear dance to my 100 million followers."

Orion cut the line without another word.