Training didn't begin with commands.
It began with silence.
The King Family grounds stretched wide beyond the mansion—terraced stone platforms cut into the hillside, old battle courts half-swallowed by moss, newer facilities tucked subtly between them. No banners. No scoreboards. No crowds.
Just space.
Cyrus stood at the edge of the primary yard, jacket unzipped, bandages still tight under his shirt. Morning air pressed cool against his skin, clean in a way Divide City's never had the chance to be. The sun hadn't fully climbed yet. Long shadows stretched across the stone.
Gengar hovered a few paces away.
Not drifting.
Waiting.
Cyrus exhaled and flexed his fingers. They still shook when he didn't pay attention.
"Okay," he said quietly. "We're not doing anything impressive today."
Gengar tilted its head. A low, curious—
"Gen?"
"Yeah. I know." Cyrus huffed a weak smile. "That's the point."
He stepped onto the stone circle etched faintly into the ground. Old markings. League-standard once, back when the mansion had hosted regional officials instead of archives and secrets.
Ditto slid off his shoulders, reshaping smoothly into its compact, neutral form—no disguise, no mimicry. Just blue, glossy, alert.
Cyrus looked at both of them.
"We almost lost control," he said.
Gengar's shadow twitched.
"That wasn't Darkrai's fault," Cyrus continued. "Or Cresselia's. Or even Hoopa's."
A pause.
"It was mine."
The words didn't feel dramatic. They felt factual.
He closed his eyes.
"When the pressure hit… I pushed. Harder than I ever have. I didn't check the cost. I just assumed we'd endure it."
Gengar floated closer, shadow brushing Cyrus's boots.
"Gen," it said softly. Not questioning. Acknowledging.
"I know you'd follow me anywhere," Cyrus said. His voice tightened. "That's exactly why this matters."
He opened his eyes.
"So we start over."
They began with grounding.
No attacks. No abilities.
Just movement.
Cyrus paced the perimeter of the circle, slow and deliberate, counting breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. His ribs protested on the fourth lap. He ignored them until Maren's voice echoed from the edge of the yard.
"Pain is data," she said. "Not an opponent."
Cyrus gave a glance looking over his shoulder. "Tell my nervous system."
"I will," she replied evenly. "....After you listen to it."
Hearing her comment Cyrus decided to adjust his pace... going a little slower.
Gengar mirrored him, not perfectly, but instinctively...hovering just off Cyrus's left shoulder, shadow tracking his steps. Every time Cyrus's breathing hitched, Gengar's outline sharpened, reacting before Cyrus was aware of it.
Ditto followed too, stretching, compressing, testing balance against the uneven stone.
This wasn't bonding.
This was recalibration.
After ten minutes, Cyrus stopped.
His hands were trembling again.
"Okay," he said. "Phase two."
Gengar straightened, eyes gleaming faintly.
"Gen."
"No shadow expansion," Cyrus said immediately. "Minimal manifestation only."
Gengar froze.
Its grin dimmed.
"Gen…?"
"I know," Cyrus said. "You're used to compensating. Covering ground. Controlling space."
He met Gengar's gaze.
"That's not the goal right now."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Gengar nodded, slow, deliberate, and pulled its shadow in.
The temperature of the yard shifted. Just slightly. Less pressure. Less reach.
Cyrus felt it in his chest.
"Good," he murmured. "Stay there."
They practiced constraint.
Cyrus issued commands that stopped halfway.
Gengar began motions it deliberately aborted.
Ditto formed shapes only to dissolve them before completion.
It was harder than any full-power battle.
Sweat beaded at Cyrus's temples. His vision swam once, briefly, and he knelt before it could escalate.
Stone pressed cool against his palms.
"Still here," he muttered.
Gengar loomed protectively, shadow flaring...
"No," Cyrus said sharply.
Gengar froze mid-expansion.
Cyrus forced himself upright. "I need you close. Not over me."
Gengar hesitated.
Then settled.
That was the breakthrough.
Hoopa didn't appear until the third hour.
Not summoned, and without prompting.
A ring blinked open above the far platform, and Hoopa popped through upside-down, clapping lazily.
"Traaaining," it sang. "Boring...but...important...iiii guessss~"
Cyrus didn't look up. "hey...You're late."
Hoopa gasped theatrically. "Ruuude! I was giving you space. Growth space!"
It flipped right-side up, hovering nearer, eyes narrowing playfully as it took in the scene.
"Oooh," Hoopa said. "You're doing the hard training."
Cyrus wiped his brow. "You're welcome to help."
Hoopa tilted its head. "Mmm. Nope."
Gengar growled low in its throat.
Hoopa wagged a finger. "Not yet~ If I help now, you'll lean on me later. That's no fun."
Cyrus snorted despite himself. "You have a weird definition of fun."
Hoopa floated closer, voice dropping just a notch, not serious, but no longer sing-song.
"You almost broke," it said lightly. "Both sides."
Cyrus went still.
Hoopa smiled again, bright and childish. "So you're learning how not to~ Good human."
The ring snapped shut.
Gone.
Cyrus exhaled slowly.
"Great," he muttered. "Even the mythic clown is practicing restraint."
Gengar gave a quiet, approving nod,
"Gen."
They ended the session at dusk.
No fireworks.
No triumph.
Just exhaustion that felt earned instead of hollow.
Cyrus sat on the edge of the platform, legs dangling, watching the sky bruise purple over the hills. His body hurt. His mind was quieter.
That was new.
Joseph approached without comment, stopping a respectful distance away.
"You didn't push," he observed.
Cyrus nodded. "That's the point."
Joseph studied Gengar, Ditto, the faintly cracked stone circle. "This path won't be fast."
"I know."
"And it won't be safe."
Cyrus looked up at him. "Nothing worth doing has been so far."
Joseph held his gaze a moment longer.
Then: "Tomorrow, we add structure."
Cyrus smiled faintly. "Figures."
As the light faded, Gengar's shadow stretched, controlled, measured, just enough to touch Cyrus's foot.
Ditto leaned against his side, warm and steady.
For the first time since Divide City, Cyrus didn't feel like he was bracing for impact.
He was preparing for it.
And somewhere far beyond the hills, Frostveil continued its slow, inevitable drift.
Six months wasn't long.
So Cyrus trained like it wasn't promised.