The training hall smelled of sweat, worn wood, and the faint tang of old grimoire ink. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long stripes across the floor.
Kaito stood at the center, spear in hand, eyes scanning Eryo. "Alright," he said calmly, "we'll start simple. Footwork, coordination, and reflexes. Don't overthink it. Let your body remember what it needs to do."
Eryo nodded, gripping a training staff that Kaito had handed him. Even in this new body, his stance was natural, almost predatory, as if muscle memory reached deeper than consciousness.
"Focus," Kaito continued, moving forward slowly. "React, don't plan. Let instinct guide you."
Almost immediately, Eryo's movements fell into rhythm with Kaito's. Every pivot, every dodge, mirrored the precise flow of a fighter who had trained for lifetimes. Kaito's eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of surprise and satisfaction crossing his face.
"You're… faster than I expected," he muttered, ducking under a swift sweep from Eryo's staff. "Not bad for someone just remembering."
Eryo's eyes flickered briefly—an almost imperceptible shimmer—like a memory brushing against the present. He hesitated for a split second, then moved with fluid precision as though recalling old battles fought side by side with Kaito.
Kaito didn't notice the flash in Eryo's gaze, but Dex did, circling their feet, tail wagging nervously.
"Good," Kaito said, voice steady. "See? You don't need to think. Your body knows."
Eryo grinned, a spark of excitement lighting his face. "It's… familiar," he admitted softly. "Like I've done this before."
"Exactly," Kaito replied. "Trust it. Trust yourself. That's how we'll get through everything ahead."
For the next hour, the hall rang with the sounds of practice: wood thumping against wood, footsteps striking the floor, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Kaito led, but Eryo's instincts often predicted his movements, countering or supporting almost before he acted.
At one point, Kaito stopped, spear lowered, eyes serious. "You're doing well. But remember—this isn't just physical. Your mind and instincts are connected. Every move, every reaction… it's all part of remembering who you were and what we fought for."
Eryo's hands tightened on the staff. "I can feel it," he whispered, almost to himself. "Like fragments of… the past… guiding me."
Kaito nodded, silent for a moment, watching him. "Don't tell anyone else about this. They'll think it's just training. Let the memories come naturally."
Eryo glanced around, eyes flicking to the others outside the training hall. "I understand. For now… just you and me."
Kaito allowed a faint smile, the first one in days that wasn't weighed down by worry. "Good. For now, that's enough. When the time comes, we'll bring the rest of them along. But your instincts—they're our key. And they're waking faster than I expected."
Outside, sunlight faded as the afternoon edged into evening. Inside the hall, spear and staff met again and again, bodies moving in perfect, instinctive harmony—a bond across lifetimes reawakening, still hidden from the world.
And though no one else could see it yet, Kaito knew this was the beginning of something far greater. The bond with Eryo wasn't just returning—it was growing stronger with every practiced move, every instinctive strike.