"I still don't fully get it, Eli." Mio's voice was quiet, careful—like he was testing fragile ground. "So you want me to… be a close-range fighter? More like Kairo?"
Eli met his eyes and nodded once. "Not be Kairo. That's impossible. But use what you are—only amplified, adapted. Your threads aren't just traps. They're blades, whips, shields. You already poke yourself with them when you push the edge. I saw the cut on your hand."
Mio's fingers twitched reflexively; he hid his hand behind his back. "You noticed that?"
Eli laughed—soft, easy, the kind that cuts tension. "Of course I noticed. You're not subtle. But that's the point. You've been playing defense because someone else always finished the fight. Now the finish falls to us, and you don't have to pretend your tools are small."
Mio's mouth formed a half-smile, vulnerability settling into his posture. "It does work… I just never thought… I always used them to trap, to tether. That's what I trained for."
