The training yard Ara led him to was hidden behind a crumbling warehouse on the east edge of Wosbildung. The place smelled of dust and rust, with scattered crates and a few cracked stone pillars.
Kiro looked around. "This doesn't exactly scream 'cutting-edge training facility.'"
Ara dropped her cloak and rolled her shoulders. "You don't need cutting-edge. You need somewhere no one's watching when you screw up."
She pulled two wooden staves from a crate and tossed one to him. "First lesson: mental control under pressure. You're going to keep your focus on me—no threads, no tricks—while defending yourself."
Kiro caught the staff awkwardly. "That's it? Seems easy."
Her smile was thin. "We'll see."
She came at him fast.The first blow rattled his arms; the second nearly knocked the staff from his grip.
"Eyes on me," Ara barked. "If your focus wavers, you lose."
Kiro gritted his teeth, blocking strike after strike. At first, he could track her movements… but the golden web shimmered faintly in his vision. The temptation to reach for it pulsed in his skull.
Just one thread… just to slow her down…
He shook it off—too late.Ara swept his legs. He hit the ground with a thud.
"That's a fail," she said. "Again."
They repeated it. Again. Again. Each time, the urge to pull at her mind grew stronger, especially when she pressed him harder, faster. By the eighth round, his muscles burned and sweat stung his eyes.
"You're thinking about it," she said between strikes. "Stop thinking about it."
"Easy for you to say!" he snapped.
She shoved him back, hard. "Kiro, if you lose control in a real fight, you could end up bending the wrong mind—or mine."
That stopped him cold. The idea of forcing Ara against her will was… wrong in a way that made his stomach knot.
They started again. This time, he forced himself to ignore the glimmer of threads completely, focusing only on the sound of her movements, the weight of the staff in his hands, the grit of the ground under his feet.
For a while, it worked. He blocked three strikes in a row, even managed to counter.
But then she feinted—his reflexes screamed for an edge—and the thread flared in his vision.
Without meaning to, he pulled.
Ara froze mid-swing. Her eyes went blank, the staff lowering.
Kiro's breath caught. "No, no, no—" He dropped the thread instantly.
She staggered back, shaking her head like she'd just woken from a bad dream.
"Was that—" she began.
"Yes," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to."
Her gaze was sharp. "That's exactly why we're here."
Kiro ran a hand through his hair, the helmet under his arm. "I can't—when it's right there, it's like trying not to breathe."
Ara's voice softened. "Then we make it harder. If you can resist me, you can resist anyone."
They went again, and again, until the stars faded into pale dawn. By the end, Kiro could barely stand. But for the last three rounds, he hadn't touched a single thread.
Ara tossed him a waterskin. "Better. Still dangerous. But better."
Kiro took a long drink. "So what's next?"
"Next," Ara said, glancing toward the rising sun, "we find out what the Black Division really wants with you."