The morning came cool and gray.
Thin clouds drifted above the bridge, softening the light. The wind carried the scent of dust and running water, quiet and still.
24 didn't reach for his blades that morning.
Instead, he stood in the clearing beside the river, bare-handed, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.
Lu watched him for a moment before asking,
"We're not training today?"
"We are," he said. "Just not the way you think."
He motioned for her to step closer. She did, cautiously, blades still at her side.
"Drop the weapons," he said. "You won't need them."
She hesitated, then set both blades down in the dirt.
24 started moving — slow, deliberate motions, stretching through the air like he was pulling invisible threads.
"Flexibility keeps you alive longer than strength," he said quietly. "The body breaks faster than the will does."
Lu tried to mirror him. Her movements were stiff at first, jerky, but she followed his rhythm.
"Feels strange doing this without a sword," she muttered.
"Good," 24 said. "You should know how to fight even when you have nothing."
The morning passed in silence. The two of them moved through the slow rhythm of stretches and balance drills — controlled breathing, tension, release. The sound of the river filled the pauses between his words.
After a while, Lu broke the silence.
"You've been making the training tougher. Pushing harder. Why stop now?"
24 straightened, watching her carefully. "Because power without restraint is a weapon you can't control. I know what that looks like."
She looked up at him, unsure. "You mean what they made you into?"
"I mean what happens when you start to believe killing is easy."
He picked up a small stone and turned it in his hand.
"You train to fight, not to kill," he said. "There's a difference."
Lu crossed her arms. "But out there, isn't it the same?"
24 dropped the stone, his eyes hard. "No. Training is order. Killing is chaos. Training ends when you stop moving. Killing doesn't stop — it stays."
He turned toward the river, his voice lower now.
"When you take a life, you carry it. Even if you were right to do it."
Lu's tone softened. "You've carried a lot then."
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched again, broken only by the wind through the bridge beams.
"You'll have to decide for yourself someday," he said finally. "When it's your life or theirs. When there's no one left to tell you what's right."
"And if I freeze?" she asked.
He looked at her, steady and unblinking.
"Then you die. And someone else learns what you couldn't."
She nodded slowly, letting that sink in.
They went back to their movements — slower this time, quieter. The air felt heavier now, like his words had settled into the dirt beneath them.
When the sun reached its peak, Lu exhaled and straightened up, sweat on her neck beneath the mask.
"You make it sound like you don't believe in mercy."
"Mercy's for the ones who've earned it," he said. "But don't confuse mercy with hesitation."
She picked up her blades, weighing them in her hands.
"So what am I training to become?"
24's gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he answered.
"Someone who survives the things I didn't."