The clang of steel echoed across the training yard.
Sirius staggered back, his wooden blade rattling in his grip as Cor's katana smacked it aside. The force traveled down his arms, numbing them. He stumbled, barely keeping his footing.
"Again," Cor ordered.
Sirius' chest heaved. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging. His shirt clung to his skin, soaked through from hours of relentless drills. His lungs screamed for air, his muscles quivered, but he forced his body upright.
He raised the blade.
Cor came at him again. No warning, no pause. A strike downward, sharp and merciless. Sirius tried to parry, his body sluggish, and the impact sent him sprawling across the floor. His ribs struck the ground with a jolt of pain.
He wheezed, gasping, the taste of blood faint on his tongue.
Cor's voice remained steady, unyielding. "Again."
---
The next hour blurred into a haze of punishment. Every mistake earned a blow, every hesitation a strike. Sirius' arms shook uncontrollably now, his legs giving way beneath him. Each time he fell, he forced himself up again, but slower, heavier.
Cor's strikes didn't lessen. They sharpened.
"You falter," Cor said, his tone flat, not cruel but unrelenting. "A fighter who falters is already dead."
Sirius grit his teeth, tears stinging his eyes. His chest burned. His body screamed at him to stop, but he couldn't. He wouldn't.
He lifted the blade again, though it wobbled in his hands.
"Don't falter," he whispered through clenched teeth. "Breathe. Focus."
But the mantra was drowned by pain.
Cor's katana knocked him down again.
This time, Sirius stayed on the floor longer, his body refusing to rise. His vision swam, the world tilting. He could barely breathe.
Cor stood over him, expression unreadable. He didn't strike again. He didn't move. He simply waited.
Minutes passed, though they felt like hours.
Sirius' heart hammered in his ears. His muscles twitched, refusing him, every fiber of his body straining. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms.
And something inside him shifted.
Adaptive Resonance.
It pulsed like a second heartbeat, subtle but insistent. His body remembered the pain, remembered the angles, remembered the strain. His nerves adjusted. His muscles adapted.
The next breath came steadier. The next twitch of his hand steadier still. His arms stopped trembling quite so violently.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright.
Cor's gaze followed, his expression still iron.
Sirius lifted the sword again. This time, though weak, his stance held.
Cor's katana flashed. Sirius braced—and though the strike jarred his body, he did not fall.
---
The drills continued. Hours stretched like days.
Sirius broke, collapsed, and rose again. Over and over. Each time, his body learned. His legs steadied. His arms stopped shaking so quickly. His breathing found rhythm between strikes.
By late afternoon, he had collapsed seven times, each one worse than the last. His shirt was torn, his knees raw from the ground. The wooden blade shook in his hands.
Cor circled him like a wolf. "Stand."
"I—" Sirius gasped, nearly dropping the sword.
"Stand."
Something deep in him obeyed. He pushed against the screaming of his body, forcing himself up again.
The next blow came, and though he still fell, he lasted longer than the last time.
---
By evening, Sirius' arms felt like stone, but they no longer trembled. His cuts, though slow, carved clean arcs through the air. His stance no longer buckled instantly on impact.
He still lost. Cor still disarmed him with ease. But he lasted longer. He fell less. He stood taller.
When at last Cor lowered his blade, Sirius collapsed to his knees, gasping, sweat dripping into the dirt. His body felt like shattered glass pieced together with fire.
But he had not quit.
---
Cor studied him for a long moment, then spoke. "Most break and stay broken. You break and build."
Sirius looked up, eyes bloodshot, red irises glinting through exhaustion.
Cor's voice lowered, carrying weight. "That's what makes a survivor."
Sirius clenched his fists, the mantra echoing in his skull: Don't falter. Breathe. Focus.
---
That night, back in his room, Sirius collapsed onto his bed. His muscles ached so fiercely he could barely move. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, every breath a dull fire in his lungs.
But beneath the pain, he felt something else.
Growth.
It was slow, like embers fanned by wind, but real. Every strike he had failed against earlier replayed in his mind. His body twitched in response, as though correcting itself in sleep. Adaptive Resonance was still working, still adjusting.
His fingers flexed unconsciously, repeating the grip. His shoulders shifted as if bracing for a blow that no longer came. Even in rest, his body rebuilt itself from failure.
He whispered into the darkness, voice faint but fierce:
"Break me again. I'll stand again."
And then sleep claimed him.
---
Later that evening, Cor stood in the apartment's kitchen, a cup of water in his hand. Dominic leaned against the counter, still in partial armor from his shift, his expression drawn.
"How was he today?" Dominic asked quietly.
Cor's eyes narrowed slightly. "He broke."
Dominic's jaw tightened. "And?"
Cor took a slow sip before answering. "And he rebuilt."
Dominic frowned. "He's nine, Cor. You push him like he's grown."
Cor's gaze hardened. "Most men break and stay broken. Your son doesn't. Every time I push him past the point of collapse, he comes back steadier. Faster. Stronger. It isn't natural."
At that, another voice joined them.
Lyla stood at the doorway, a shawl drawn around her shoulders, pale in the lanternlight. She had clearly been resting, but her eyes were sharp, steady.
"He's still a child," she said softly. "Don't forget that."
Dominic turned to her, guilt flickering in his eyes. "Lyla…"
She walked closer, laying a hand gently on his arm before looking at Cor. "You speak of him like a soldier, Cor. And maybe that is what he'll have to become. But when he comes home—he is my boy. My son. He needs warmth as much as discipline."
Cor inclined his head, not dismissing her words, but not retreating either. "I don't deny it. But you know the truth as I do. He cannot stay a child for long. Not with what's coming."
Silence pressed in, heavy.
Dominic lowered his gaze, torn between his wife's plea and his commander's truth. Lyla's hand lingered on his arm, grounding him.
Finally, she whispered, almost to herself: "Just… don't let him lose his heart while you forge his blade."
Cor's expression softened just a fraction, a shadow of respect in his eyes. "That much, I'll try."
The three of them stood in silence, the weight of Sirius' future hanging heavy between them.