Maren's gymnasium was built for destruction.
Reinforced walls thick enough to contain Pulse-enhanced impacts. Scorch marks on concrete from students who'd lost control and burned through their enhancement. Training dummies scattered across the floor—some intact, most showing signs of previous students' lack of control. Deep gouges in the padding. Cracked wooden frames. The ceiling was high enough that Pulse users could practice vertical enhancement without cracking their skulls open.
Very reassuring architecture. Very "we expect you to break things."
Aki arrived at 1455. Five minutes early. The room was already half-full. Same students from this morning's lecture. Same wary glances when he walked in. Same subtle shift as people moved slightly away from the Thread 3 anomaly.
He found a spot against the back wall. Not hiding. Just positioning. Good sightlines. Clear exit route. Old habits that had kept him alive in worse places than this.
More students filtered in. The disgusted girl from this morning wasn't there. Still expelled, probably. Good. One less problem. The Thread 3 students clustered together, talking quietly, shooting occasional glances at Aki like he was a bomb on a timer. Thread 1s and 2s looked nervous. Everyone looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.
At exactly 1500, Maren entered.
He wasn't alone.
Behind him walked a woman who immediately commanded attention without saying a word.
She was tall—maybe six feet—with the kind of build that came from years of serious training, not casual exercise. Defined muscle visible even through her Order uniform, which she wore with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows like the fabric was merely a suggestion. Her arms showed the evidence: lean, powerful, covered in faint scars that looked earned in actual combat rather than accidents. Not bulky. Not intimidating. Just… lethal. Like a blade wrapped in skin.
Crimson eyes. The same ones from assessment. Pale blonde hair pulled back in a practical braid that somehow managed to look effortless. Perfect features that somehow didn't look fragile—she looked like she could break someone in half and smile while doing it. And probably had.
Aurelia Barclay. The consultant who'd called him "interesting" and pushed for his acceptance.
Great. Another person to complicate things.
Maren carried several wooden practice swords. Set them against the wall with the kind of care that suggested they cost more than Aki's monthly rent used to. "Practical Application," he announced. "Theory is useless if you can't execute. Today we start weapons training."
A Thread 2 student raised his hand. "I thought we were practicing Forms?"
"You are. With weapons." Maren gestured to Aurelia. "Most of you will never reach Transcendent level. That's statistical reality. But all of you can learn to fight with a weapon. Pulse enhancement works through anything you're holding—sword, staff, gauntlet. The weapon becomes an extension of your body. Your enhancement flows through it."
He picked up one of the practice swords. Tested its balance. "Problem: I'm a Breaker. Fist and gauntlet fighter. I can teach you Forms and breathing. I cannot teach you swordsmanship." He set the sword down. "So I invited someone who can."
Aurelia stepped forward. Her movement was fluid, controlled, like a predator that knew exactly how dangerous it was. She surveyed the class with those crimson eyes, and Aki felt assessed in about three seconds.
"Aurelia Barclay," she said. Her voice was smooth, confident, with an edge of amusement like she found this whole situation entertaining. "Former Order operative. Current consultant. Flow Blade specialist—one of the branches of Pulse Path available at Transcendent level."
She pulled a practice sword from the rack with one hand, tested its weight like it was nothing. "When you reach Thread 6, you can choose to branch your Path. Specialize. Maren here is a Breaker—gauntlet and fist combat, overwhelming force, breaking through defenses." She smiled slightly. "Very straightforward. Very 'hit things until they stop moving.'"
A few students laughed nervously. Maren's expression didn't change but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement maybe.
"Carver is another branch," Aurelia continued, spinning the practice sword once in her hand with casual expertise. "Vicious, ruthless swordwork. All offense, minimal defense. You cut through everything in your path. Extremely effective. Also extremely likely to get you killed if you're not careful."
She stopped spinning the sword. Held it in a perfect ready position. "Flow Blade—my specialty—precision swordwork. Control over power. Efficiency over brute force. You redirect your opponent's strength, find openings, strike where it matters most." Her crimson eyes swept the room. "Less dramatic than Carver. More likely to keep you alive past thirty."
Someone in the back muttered something about "showing off."
Aurelia's smile widened. Sharp. Dangerous. "Oh, I haven't started showing off yet." She looked at Maren. "Should I demonstrate the difference between the branches?"
"Keep it educational."
"I'm always educational." She turned back to the class. "Some masters create their own branches. Their own breathing styles. Their own techniques. But that comes later—much later, after you've mastered the fundamentals and achieved Transcendent level. First, you learn how to hold a sword without accidentally killing yourself."
She said it with such casual confidence that it somehow didn't sound condescending. Just… matter-of-fact. Like she'd seen too many idiots hurt themselves to bother softening the truth.
Aki found himself paying attention despite his default skepticism of authority figures.
"Today, I'm teaching you how to hold a sword, move with a sword, and eventually—if you're very lucky and moderately competent—how to fight with a sword." She looked directly at Aki for a half-second longer than necessary. Something flickered in her expression. Recognition. Interest. "Without destroying yourselves in the process."
A few nervous laughs.
Aurelia didn't smile this time. "I'm not joking. Most beginners hurt themselves with their own weapons. They grip wrong, swing wrong, stance wrong. Add Pulse enhancement to that and you'll break your own wrist or shatter the blade in your hands." She looked at Maren. "How many students injure themselves with weapons every year?"
"Fifteen to twenty."
"And those are just the ones who survive to report it. Last year, a Thread 2 student tried to show off with Second Form enhancement in his first week of sword training. Shattered both his arms and embedded wood splinters in his face." She said it casually, like discussing the weather. "Spent two months in Mend treatment. Still can't grip properly with his left hand."
The room went very quiet.
"So," Aurelia continued, her tone brightening slightly. "Let's avoid that, shall we? Weapons multiply your power. They also multiply your mistakes exponentially. We start slow. We start careful. And if anyone gets cocky, I will personally demonstrate why that's a terrible idea." She tilted her head. "And I promise you'll find it *very* educational."
The way she said it—pleasant, almost friendly, but with steel underneath—made it clear she meant every word.
Aki believed her. Everything about her posture, her tone, her casual competence said she could back up that threat and probably enjoy doing it.
"Everyone grab a practice sword," Maren ordered. "Spread out. Give yourselves space. You're going to learn basic grip, basic stance, basic cuts. Nothing fancy. Nothing deadly. Just fundamentals that might keep you alive."
Students moved to grab weapons. Aki took one of the wooden practice swords. It was heavier than it looked—weighted to feel like real steel even though it was blunt. The balance was different from anything he'd held before. Warehouse crates had weight but not this kind of distribution. His hands felt awkward around the grip, like holding something designed for someone else.
He'd never held a sword in his life. Never had reason to. Warehouse work didn't involve weapons training. Street fights involved fists, maybe improvised weapons if you were desperate. Not swords.
Lira moved to stand near him. Not partnered yet, just… proximate. She held her sword with the same awkwardness Aki felt. Like neither of them had any idea what they were doing.
"Form a line," Aurelia called out. "Everyone facing me. Swords at your sides."
The class arranged itself. Fated students confidently taking positions near the front, already comfortable with the basic weight. Forsaken gravitating toward the back like they'd been trained to stay out of the way.
Aki ended up in the second-to-last row. Lira beside him. Both holding swords like they were foreign objects. Which they were.
Aurelia held up her practice sword. "Grip. Most important thing you'll learn today. Grip wrong and everything else fails. Grip wrong with enhancement and you'll break your own fingers."
She demonstrated, turning slightly so everyone could see. "Dominant hand on the handle, just below the guard. Firm but not crushing. Think of it like…" She paused, considering. "Like holding something you don't want to drop but also don't want to strangle. Relaxed intensity. Controlled aggression." She adjusted her grip slightly. "Your hand should be relaxed enough to adjust angle but tight enough that the sword won't fly out on impact."
Her explanation was clear, precise, but somehow not condescending. Like she was talking to equals who just happened to not know this specific thing yet.
"Non-dominant hand goes below your dominant hand on the handle. This creates a fulcrum. Leverage. Control. Both hands work together—dominant hand guides direction, non-dominant hand powers the swing." She demonstrated a slow cut. "See how my top hand steers while my bottom hand provides force? That's the principle."
Around the room, students tried to copy her. Aki adjusted his grip. It felt wrong. Unnatural. Like his hands were shaped incorrectly for this specific task.
Aurelia walked through the rows, correcting grips. Her corrections were precise but not harsh. "Too tight—you'll tire in minutes. Too loose—you'll drop it mid-swing and embarrass yourself. Find the balance."
She moved efficiently through the Fated students, making minor adjustments, offering quick tips.
When she reached Aki, she stopped. Those crimson eyes studied his grip with professional assessment.
"You've never held a sword before," she said. Not a question. An observation.
"No."
"Thought so." She moved closer—not invasive, just close enough to adjust his grip properly. "You're strangling it. Like you're trying to intimidate the sword into submission." Her tone was wry, almost teasing. "The sword doesn't respond to intimidation. It responds to partnership."
She adjusted his dominant hand, her fingers warm and calloused against his. The touch was professional, impersonal, but Aki felt hyperaware of it anyway. Of how easily she moved his hand, how precisely she positioned it.
"Relax your fingers. Yes, like that. The sword is an extension of your arm, not a weapon you're trying to control. Think of it as… an agreement between you and the blade. You provide the intent, it provides the edge."
She stepped back, assessed his new grip. "Better. Much better. Keep that."
Then she looked at his face—really looked, meeting his eyes directly. Something shifted in her expression. Not pity. Not curiosity. Recognition maybe. Like she saw something familiar.
"You're the Thread 3 Forsaken," she said quietly. Just to him. "The one who nearly destabilized this morning but pulled it back."
"News travels."
"I was there. In the back. Watching." Her crimson eyes held his. "You have good instincts. Terrible control, but good instincts. That's rarer than you'd think."
"Thanks. I think."
She smiled—genuine this time, not sharp. "It was a compliment. Take it." Then she moved to Lira, her demeanor shifting back to instructor mode.
But Aki felt the weight of that look. The way she'd studied him. Not like he was dangerous. Like he was *interesting*.
Aurelia corrected Lira's grip with the same professional efficiency. "You're holding it like it's going to bite you. It's wood. It's harmless. You're the dangerous part." A slight smile. "Embrace that."
Lira's grip adjusted. Better. More confident.
When Aurelia had finished the circuit and returned to the front, she held up her sword again. "Stance. Second most important thing. Bad stance means no power, no balance, no control. Good stance means you're hard to knock down and easy to move from."
She demonstrated. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent—never locked, locked knees are asking to get swept. Weight on the balls of your feet, not your heels. You need to be able to move in any direction without telegraphing your intention first."
She shifted her position smoothly. "Sword held at mid-height. Not raised—that tells your opponent what you're planning. Not lowered—that leaves you vulnerable to fast attacks. Neutral position. Ready to attack or defend without committing early." She looked at the class. "In a real fight, the person who commits first usually loses. Remember that."
The class copied her. Aki adjusted his feet. His stance felt unstable, like one solid push would topple him over.
Aurelia walked through again. Correcting stances. Adjusting foot positions with light taps of her practice sword.
When she reached Aki, she tapped his back foot lightly. "Wider. You're too narrow. One hit and you'll fall over like a training dummy."
Aki widened his stance. It felt awkward but more stable.
"Better." She circled him once, assessing. "Your weight distribution is off. You're favoring your front foot too much. Shift back slightly—yes, there. Now you can move in any direction without losing balance." She met his eyes again. "Good. You adjust quickly once you understand the reason. That's useful."
There was something in her tone—approval, maybe. Like she was genuinely pleased he was learning instead of just going through the motions.
She moved on to Lira. Made similar corrections.
"Movement," Aurelia called out once she'd finished the circuit. "You don't stand still in combat. Ever. Static targets die first. You flow—small steps, always balanced, never crossing your feet unless you want to trip over your own stupidity."
She demonstrated. Flowing forward. Backward. Side to side. Her movement was liquid, effortless, like she was dancing rather than fighting. Beautiful in a lethal way.
"Everyone. Follow my lead. Forward step."
The class moved. Aki stepped forward. His balance shifted wrong. He had to adjust mid-step to not stumble.
Pathetic. He'd spent eighteen years moving through hostile environments, dodging trouble, staying light on his feet. But add a sword and suddenly he was clumsy as a child learning to walk.
"Backward step."
Aki stepped back. Better this time. His balance held.
"Side step left. Side step right."
They practiced. Over and over. Forward. Back. Left. Right. Small movements. Always balanced. Always ready.
Aki's legs burned. Not from enhancement—he wasn't using any yet. Just from holding the stance, maintaining balance, moving with control instead of his usual efficient-but-graceless street movement.
Aurelia walked through the rows, observing, correcting with light touches or verbal cues. When she passed Aki, she nodded once. "Good. Your footwork is improving. Less like you're about to fall over, more like you're actually dangerous."
Was that a compliment? It sounded like one. Delivered with that slight smile that suggested she was enjoying teaching more than she'd expected.
"Cuts," Aurelia announced after fifteen minutes of footwork. "Basic strikes. No power yet. Just motion. Understanding trajectory and follow-through."
She raised her sword. "Vertical cut. Starts high, comes down through center line. The key is follow-through—don't stop at impact, let the blade complete its arc naturally. Stopping mid-cut is how you hurt yourself."
She demonstrated. Slow. Controlled. The practice sword cut through air in a clean, perfect line.
"Everyone. Vertical cut. Slow. Focus on form, not speed. Speed comes later, after you understand the motion."
Aki raised his sword. Tried to copy her movement.
His cut was clumsy. Off-center. His grip shifted wrong and the sword twisted in his hands halfway through.
Around him, other students had similar problems. Some better, some worse. The Fated students with money had probably had private lessons before. Their cuts were cleaner, more controlled, muscle memory already developing.
The Forsaken students struggled. Lira's cut was decent but hesitant, like she was afraid the sword would do something unexpected. The red-scarred guy across the room nearly dropped his sword mid-swing.
"Again," Aurelia called. "Ten repetitions. Slow. Controlled. Think about the motion."
They practiced. Aki's cuts improved slightly. Still clumsy, still awkward, but at least his grip stayed solid now.
"Horizontal cut," Aurelia continued after the vertical cuts. "Across the body. Left to right or right to left—whichever feels natural for your dominant hand. The power comes from rotation."
She demonstrated, and Aki could see her whole body engage. "Your hips rotate. Your core engages. The power flows from your feet, through your legs, through your core, into your arms, into the blade. It's not just arm strength—it's whole-body mechanics."
She made it look effortless. Like the sword was just following the natural motion of her body.
Aki tried. His hips barely rotated. His core felt disconnected from his arms. The sword moved but without real power behind it, just momentum from his arm.
"Again. Ten repetitions."
They practiced. Over and over. Vertical cuts. Horizontal cuts. Diagonal cuts. Each one clumsy, uncoordinated, but slowly—*slowly*—beginning to feel less foreign. Less like wielding an alien object, more like using a tool he didn't quite understand yet.
By the sixth repetition, Aki's vertical cut was actually following a straight line. By the tenth, his grip stayed consistent through the whole motion without shifting.
Progress. Incremental. Barely visible. But progress.
Aurelia walked through the rows again, observing. When she passed Aki, she stopped. Watched him complete a horizontal cut.
"Better," she said. "Your hips are actually rotating now. Still looks mechanical, but the mechanics are correct. Keep practicing and it'll become natural."
Then she did something unexpected. She adjusted his stance slightly—one hand on his shoulder to turn him a few degrees, casual touch that somehow didn't feel invasive.
"Try from this angle. Your feet were fighting your rotation."
Aki tried again. The cut flowed better. More power. More controlled.
"There you go." Aurelia's smile was genuine. "See? You're not hopeless. Just untrained. Big difference."
Something about her tone—encouraging without being patronizing, confident without being arrogant—made it easier to accept the criticism. She wasn't looking down at him. Just teaching. Actually teaching.
"Enough," Aurelia called after thirty minutes. "You're all developing bad habits from fatigue. Rest. Hydrate. Don't put your swords down—keep holding them. Get used to the weight. It should start feeling like part of your arm."
Students lowered their swords but kept holding them. Aki stood there, practice sword in hand, feeling the ache in his forearms, his shoulders, his core. Every muscle involved in those repetitive cuts was screaming.
Aurelia walked to the center of the room, still moving with that fluid confidence. "What you just learned is the foundation. Grip, stance, footwork, basic cuts. Every advanced technique—every branch, every master-level skill—builds from these fundamentals. Master them and everything else becomes possible. Skip them and you'll hurt yourself trying to get fancy."
She twirled her practice sword once, casually, the motion so smooth it looked like the sword was an extension of her hand. "I've seen Thread 6 Transcendents who never mastered the basics. They were powerful but inefficient. Wasted energy. Made mistakes. The ones who survived long enough to reach Thread 8 or 9? They all mastered fundamentals first."
She looked at Maren. "Ready for enhancement drills?"
"Give them five minutes to rest first. They look half-dead."
Aurelia's laugh was unexpected—warm, genuine, with an edge of something that suggested she found the whole situation entertaining. "They do, don't they? Very dramatic. Very 'I've suffered more than anyone.'" She addressed the class. "Five minute break. Seriously, hydrate. Dehydrated Pulse users make terrible decisions. Trust me—I've had to rescue far too many idiots who forgot water exists."
The class relaxed slightly. Some students sat. Others stretched. All kept their weapons.
Aki stood there, practice sword in hand, processing.
Aurelia Barclay was… not what he expected. Competent, obviously—that was clear from the first second. But also somehow… approachable? Like she was a person who happened to be extremely skilled, not some untouchable master looking down from on high.
And the way she looked at him—not with pity or suspicion or fear. Just interest. Like he was a puzzle she found worth solving.
It was unsettling. And strangely not terrible.
Lira shifted beside him. "She's good," she said quietly. Not a question.
"Yeah."
"And she actually seems to want us to succeed. That's… different."
Aki glanced at her. Lira's pale blue scars pulsed softly on her neck. Her expression was carefully neutral but something in her eyes suggested she was thinking the same thing Aki was.
Maybe this wouldn't be completely awful.
Aurelia's voice cut through the room. "Break's over. Now we add enhancement. Don't panic—" She held up a hand as several students tensed. "—you're not swinging at full power. You're learning how enhancement flows through a weapon. How it changes the weight, the momentum, the force. Baby steps."
Maren stepped forward. "First Form only. Low-level enhancement. Just enough to feel the difference. If your enhancement flickers or destabilizes, drop it immediately and rest."
He looked directly at the Forsaken students. "That especially includes you. Enhancement plus weapons plus instability equals catastrophic injury. Shattered bones, torn muscles, destroyed ligaments. If you feel yourself losing control, *stop*. Pride isn't worth permanent damage."
Aurelia raised her practice sword. "Watch carefully. I'll demonstrate so you know what you're aiming for."
Her body began to steam. First Form. Clean, controlled, steady. The steam rose from her skin in even waves, perfectly regulated. No flicker. No surge. Just constant, maintained enhancement.
The practice sword in her hand began to glow faintly. Not bright—just a subtle shimmer, like heat distortion over pavement in summer.
"Your enhancement flows from your core, through your muscles, into whatever you're holding," she explained, her voice steady even while enhanced. "The weapon becomes an extension of your body. When you swing, the enhancement multiplies the force."
She demonstrated a vertical cut. Slow. Controlled.
The sword cut through the air with a different sound. Sharper. More distinct. Like it was cutting *something* instead of just moving through empty space.
"That's what you're aiming for. Controlled flow. Steady enhancement. No fluctuation. The enhancement should feel like it's flowing naturally into the weapon, not like you're forcing it there."
She let her enhancement drop. The glow faded. She stopped steaming. Made it look effortless.
"Everyone. First Form. Minimal enhancement. Just enough to feel it flow into your weapon. Don't try to be impressive. Try to be controlled."
Around the room, students breathed. Bodies began to steam. Some steadier than others.
Aki took his stance. Neutral. Balanced. Practice sword held at mid-height.
Gee Style breathing. Deep and slow.
His chest expanded. Heart rate increased immediately.
The gold scars flared bright.
Power leaked from his shattered core. Spraying into his muscles without direction, without control. His right arm tensed. Left leg twitched. Heat building in his chest like pressure in a sealed container.
Control it. Guide it. Into the sword. Through the sword.
The power ignored him completely.
His enhancement flickered wildly. On. Off. On again. The practice sword in his hands felt heavier, then lighter, then heavier again as power surged and retreated randomly.
Around him, Fated students were succeeding. Their bodies steamed steadily. Their swords began to glow with that subtle shimmer Aurelia had demonstrated. Control visible and consistent.
Lira beside him was struggling but at least maintaining *something*. Her blue scars pulsed irregularly but her enhancement stayed semi-active. The sword in her hands showed faint, flickering traces of glow.
Aki forced himself to focus. To feel where the power went.
Chest. Arms. Legs. The sword. Everywhere at once instead of where he actually needed it.
Just the arms. Just the hands. Just flow into the weapon.
The power leaked chaotically, spraying like water from a broken pipe.
His vision blurred at the edges. The heat in his chest built too high, too fast.
Stop. Stop before it spirals into destabilization.
He exhaled sharply. Let the enhancement drop.
The heat dissipated. His body stopped steaming.
Forty-five seconds. That's how long he'd lasted.
Pathetic.
But better than this morning's sixty seconds *without* a weapon. Adding the sword had made control even harder, added another variable to an equation he already couldn't solve.
He rested. Breathed normally. Let his heart rate settle back to something approaching normal.
Across the room, a Thread 1 student collapsed. Maren was there instantly, checking vitals, helping them sit up, voice calm and professional.
"Keep going," Maren called out. "Collapsing is expected. Normal, even. Destabilizing is not. If you feel fragmentation starting, stop immediately."
Aki tried again. Gee Style breathing. Power leaking chaotically. Forty seconds this time before he had to stop.
He was getting *worse*.
Beside him, Lira maintained for a full minute before stopping. Her hands shook but her enhancement had stayed relatively stable—flickering, inconsistent, but not spiraling into destabilization.
Aurelia walked through the rows. Observing with those sharp crimson eyes. Correcting postures with verbal cues or light touches.
She stopped at Aki. Studied him with that same assessing look from before.
"You're fighting it," she said. Not harsh. Just observational.
"I'm trying to control it."
"No." She shifted her stance to mirror his. "You're trying to *force* it. There's a difference. Watch."
Her body steamed again. First Form, effortless. The enhancement flowed into her sword—smooth, gradual, like water filling a channel naturally rather than being pumped under pressure.
"I'm not pushing the power. I'm not wrestling it into submission. I'm showing it where to go. Intention, not force. Partnership, not domination." She let it drop. Looked at him directly. "You're treating your power like an enemy you need to control. It's not. It's part of you. A broken part, yes, but still *you*."
Aki wanted to tell her that was nonsense. That his shattered core didn't respond to *partnership*. That it was fundamentally hostile, fundamentally broken, fundamentally designed to kill him.
But arguing with someone who clearly knew more than him was pointless. And something about the way she explained it—not condescending, not pitying, just… honest—made him actually consider it.
"Try again," Aurelia said. "This time, instead of trying to control where the power goes, just… suggest it. Invite it into the sword. See what happens."
She moved on to help another student.
Aki stood there, practice sword in hand, processing.
*Invite* the power. Like it was a guest instead of an invader.
Ridiculous.
He tried anyway.
Breathed. Let the power leak without fighting it.
Instead of trying to force it into the sword, he just… held the intention. Gently. *Sword. Flow into the sword. Please.*
The power still leaked everywhere—chest, legs, arms, all the wrong places. But a tiny fraction—barely noticeable, almost negligible—flowed down his arms and into the weapon.
The practice sword grew slightly heavier in his hands. The weight shifted subtly. Like it was responding to something.
Fifty-five seconds before he had to stop. Ten seconds longer than before.
Progress? Maybe. Or maybe just random variance.
But Aurelia glanced back at him as she moved to the next student. Caught his eye. Nodded once. Like she'd seen the improvement even though it was barely measurable.
That small acknowledgment—that she'd *noticed*—hit differently than Aki expected.
Aki practiced. Over and over. His times fluctuated—fifty seconds, forty seconds, sixty seconds at best. But each time, a little more power flowed into the sword instead of spraying randomly. A little more control. A little less chaos.
Progress. Incremental and frustrating and barely visible. But progress.
At 1600, Maren called time. "Enough foundational work. Now we test under pressure. Partner drills. Controlled sparring. Light contact only. The goal is maintaining your enhancement while responding to threats. *Without* destroying your body or your partner in the process."
He gestured to the practice swords everyone was already holding. "You're armed. Face your partner. When I say begin, you'll spar. First person to lose their enhancement or land three clean hits wins. Questions?"
A Thread 2 student raised his hand. Nervous. "What about Forsaken? If they lose control during sparring—"
"Then their partner backs off immediately and I intervene." Maren's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. Like this was the tenth time he'd answered this question. "Same as if any student gets injured. Stop treating Forsaken like they're fundamentally different from someone having an asthma attack. Both require management. Both are handled with established protocols. Next question?"
The student shut up, looking uncomfortable.
"Pair up," Maren ordered. "Fated with Fated initially. Forsaken with Forsaken. If everyone survives the basics without major incident, we'll mix partners later."
Students moved. Fated students partnered easily, matching Thread levels naturally, moving with comfortable familiarity.
Aki looked around. Four Forsaken in this class total. Lira. A guy with red scars down both arms—Pulse Path based on purple trim. Another girl with scars like black ink spreading across her hands—also Pulse Path.
The red-scarred guy was already partnering with the ink-scarred girl. Moving to an empty section of the gym, putting distance between themselves and everyone else.
That left Lira.
She walked over. Stopped three feet away, maintaining that careful distance. "Guess we're partners."
"Looks like."
"Try not to explode on me." Her voice was flat. Serious.
"I'll add it to my list of priorities."
Her expression didn't change but something almost-amused flickered in her pale blue eyes. "I'm serious. We both just got here. Day one. If you destabilize, I'm not confident I can stay stable watching it happen."
"Reassuring."
"Just stating facts." She moved to an empty section of the gym, as far from other pairs as the space allowed. "Come on. Let's see if we both survive the next hour without proving everyone right about Forsaken being disasters."
Aki followed.
They took positions facing each other. Practice swords raised awkwardly. Both clearly uncertain. Both aware this could go very wrong very quickly.
Maren's voice carried across the room: "Enhancement first. Maintain it. Then begin on my signal."
Around the gym, students breathed. Bodies steamed. Weapons began to glow with that subtle shimmer of controlled enhancement.
Aki breathed. Gee Style. Deep and slow.
Power leaked. He guided it—poorly, inadequately, barely successfully—toward his arms and the sword.
The practice sword grew heavier in his hands. A faint shimmer appeared along the wooden blade, barely visible.
His enhancement flickered. Unstable. Inconsistent. But active.
Across from him, Lira's body steamed with more control. Her sword glowed slightly brighter than his. More stable. Her two days of practice—same as his—somehow showing more results.
Or maybe she was just better at this. Maybe her shattered core was less broken than his.
"Begin!" Maren's voice.
Lira moved first.
Not fast. Not aggressive. Just testing. Cautious. Her sword came in low, aiming for Aki's leg.
Aki sidestepped. Brought his sword up to block instinctively.
Wood cracked against wood.
The impact jarred his arms. Sent vibrations up through his wrists, his elbows, his shoulders. His enhancement flickered violently—trying to surge automatically in response to threat, flooding his muscles wrong, too much power in the wrong places.
Control it. Don't let it spiral.
He breathed. Forced the enhancement to settle instead of explode.
Lira pressed forward. Another strike. Then another. Controlled. Measured. Like she was following some pattern she'd seen demonstrated once and was trying to recreate from memory.
Aki blocked. Parried clumsily. His body wanted to enhance everything at once. Wanted to move faster, hit harder, overwhelm through pure force.
But that would shatter him. Break his bones. Tear his muscles. Prove everyone right about Forsaken being too unstable for weapons training.
So he fought small. Precise. Letting the enhancement leak into specific muscles instead of flooding everywhere. Blocking when he needed to. Moving when he could. Trying to maintain that flickering, inconsistent enhancement for almost ninety seconds.
He saw an opening—Lira's guard dropped slightly after a horizontal cut. Brought his sword in, aimed at her shoulder.
She blocked but the impact made her enhancement spike suddenly. Her blue scars flared brighter. Her breathing quickened, became irregular.
She's losing control.
Aki stepped back immediately. Lowered his sword. "Stop."
Lira breathed hard. Her enhancement flickered wildly now, glowing, surging and retreating without pattern. Steam rising from her skin in uneven bursts. Her hands shook on the sword grip.
Then the glow exploded outward.
***