Lyf Vault finished talking to Yoren with his hands tucked behind his head like he hadn't a care in the world.
Most of the students had drifted off, the ring that had felt packed and loud during Orin's evaluation now thinning into scattered pockets of conversation. A few people still stole glances at him as they left—quick looks, whispers, one or two lingering stares from older students who'd watched every second.
Orin tried not to meet any of their eyes.
His ribs ached with a deep, healing throb. Scratches and bruises pulsed under his shirt. His forearms still remembered the way the heat had crawled under his skin, the way his fingers had almost turned into something else.
Kahn-Ra walked at his heel in bobcat form, silent, tail swaying in a slow, lazy rhythm that didn't match the sharp attention in those pale eyes.
Lyf turned, grey skin catching the light, long light-brown hair dragging over his shoulders. He lifted a hand and flicked his fingers toward Orin.
"Slain. Bring your gear," he called, voice easy and bright. "And bring your cat. Training starts today. 'Later' is where people go to stay weak."
Orin's stomach tightened.
The word training should have been comforting. It wasn't.
He picked up his dual cleaver-hatchets from where they rested near the edge of the ring and slid them into place at his back. The leather straps bit into his sore shoulders. His fingers flexed once around the worn grips, like they wanted to make sure the weapons were really there.
At his side, Kahn-Ra's voice brushed through his thoughts like a cold wind.
"Cat."
The bobcat's tail flicked sharply. If he says it again I will claw his boots just to remind him what he's speaking to.
Orin's mouth twitched despite himself. Please don't, he thought back. I don't know what rank he is when he isn't joking.
Ranked highly enough that your General lets him play teacher without a leash, Kahn-Ra replied. Which is either wise or very foolish. Jury is out.
Before Orin could answer, a hand closed around his arm.
"Hey."
Wake stood there, eyes studying his face like he was checking for cracks. His usual half-lazy posture was gone; his shoulders were squared, jaw tight. Starke came up on the other side, sliding his weapon's strap into place across his chest, mismatched eyes flicking between Orin and Lyf.
"You really just gonna walk off with that guy?" Starke asked. "We barely met him and he already knocked you out, changed faces, and volunteered to take you somewhere not on the map."
Wake snorted. "That's usually how cautionary tales start, not success stories."
"I heard that," Lyf called without turning, still talking with one of the staff members near the arena exit. "You wound me, gear-boy."
Starke blinked once. "…Okay, that's creepy."
Orin exhaled slowly. "I don't think I get a lot of say in this," he said, voice low. "General Lox wanted him here. Yoren didn't argue. And after what happened in the forest… I need this."
Wake's expression softened at the mention of the forest. That word carried a whole graveyard now.
"You sure it has to be him?" Wake asked. "Hachi's full of people who can train you. Not all of them try to play dead in evaluations."
Orin's gaze drifted briefly to where Lyf stood, laughing at something Yoren had said. The sound carried easily, light and unbothered. Nothing in Lyf's body language said "right hand of a General" or "diamond-ranked monster." He looked like someone who'd show up late to class and still pass every exam.
But Orin remembered the way that same man had moved in the ring. How quickly he'd slipped past Orin's guard. How easily he'd gone from joking to serious when Orin almost lost control.
"He watched everything," Orin said quietly. "Not just how I fought. How I hesitated. How I pulled back when I should have committed. How close I got to… crossing the line." His throat tightened. "If anyone's going to help me keep that from happening again, it has to be someone who can see it coming. Even before I feel it."
Starke let out a long breath through his nose.
"Yeah, well," he muttered, "if General Lox sent him to evaluate you, you're not exactly regular stock, are you?"
Wake gave Orin a faint, crooked grin. "If Lyf Vault is interested in you personally," he said, "that means one thing."
"That I'm a problem?" Orin guessed.
Wake's grin widened a little. "That you're the real deal."
Starke nodded once, slowly. "He doesn't waste time on people who don't matter."
The words sat heavy and strange in Orin's chest. He didn't feel like the real deal. He felt like a blade someone had dropped point-first into the ground and forgotten.
"I just don't want to be a danger to everyone," he said. "If this helps, I'll take it. Even if I hate it."
Wake clapped a hand on his shoulder, careful of the bruises. "Then go," he said. "We'll hold it down here. Try not to die before we get a proper team mission."
Starke scoffed softly. "Or before I get to show you how good my traps really are."
Orin managed a small smile. "I'll do my best."
Lyf sauntered back toward them, hands in his pockets, expression bright.
"Ready, Slain?" he asked. His gaze flicked to Wake and Starke. "Friends. Don't worry, I'll return him mostly intact. Maybe with a few new scars if he listens slowly."
Wake's eyes narrowed. "He's not a test dummy."
Lyf raised both hands in surrender. "Relax. I break very few students. And most of those were asking for it."
"That supposed to make us feel better?" Starke muttered.
Lyf grinned. "No, but it's the truth. Come on, kid." He jerked his chin toward the far exit. "Bring the cat. We're burning daylight and I get grumpy if I'm not teaching at least one impossible case before noon."
Kahn-Ra's tail swished again.
If he says 'cat' one more time, the bobcat murmured in Orin's mind, I am going to shed on his boots.
He's right there, Orin thought back, fighting the urge to laugh. Please don't antagonize the shapeshifter who volunteered to hit me for a living.
You assume I am afraid of him.
I assume I'm the one who gets caught in the middle.
Kahn-Ra gave a small, haughty huff.
Orin turned to Wake and Starke one last time. They didn't say anything now. Didn't need to. Wake gave him a short nod, all fire banked but ready. Starke lifted two fingers in a casual little salute, eyes bright with calculation and worry both.
"I'll be back," Orin said.
"You better," Wake replied. "We've got classes to suffer through together."
"Don't let him convince you to shave your head or something," Starke added. "I worked hard memorizing your curls. Group aesthetics matter."
Orin shook his head and followed Lyf out of the arena.
The noise of Hachi faded as they left the main rings behind. The sounds of clashing weapons, shouted instructions, laughter and groans from drills—all of it dulled with each step down a narrower, less-traveled path that curved around the outer edge of the academy.
Kahn-Ra padded alongside Orin, paws silent on the stone. The bobcat's ears twitched, catching every stray sound. Lyf walked ahead of them with the effortless ease of someone strolling through a park instead of leading a hybrid and a hidden apex beast toward a place built for controlled destruction.
"You moved better than most first-years I've seen in a while," Lyf said conversationally, not bothering to look back. "Stubborn, though. You fight like someone carrying a boulder on his back who refuses to put it down because 'that's just how it is.'"
Orin frowned slightly. "Is that… supposed to be a compliment?"
"Supposed to be an observation," Lyf said. "Compliments are for when you don't almost break the 'no lethal strikes' rule. You got close a few times."
Orin's shoulders stiffened. "I held back."
"You did," Lyf agreed. "That's why we're walking and not hauling you from a cell. But you held back in the wrong direction once or twice. You were more afraid of what you might do than what your opponent was doing to you. That's how you lose people."
A flash of memory hit—Lisa falling, Sonny shouting, Vince and Vice closing ranks—and Orin's chest tightened.
"I know," he said, the words rough. "I've already lost everyone once."
Lyf glanced over his shoulder then, the easy grin dimming slightly. Something sharper flickered behind his eyes.
"Yeah," he said, quieter. "That's why I'm here."
They walked in silence for a few steps.
Kahn-Ra's voice brushed Orin's thoughts again.
He is not wrong, the bobcat said. You move like someone trapped between fear of yourself and fear of others. It is a poor place to stand. Too easy to fall either way.
You're not exactly comforting, Orin thought.
Comfort is not my art.
Lyf slowed as they approached a side gate set into the outer wall. It wasn't the main entrance students used. This one was reinforced—thicker stone, visible ward-lines etched along the arch, faint threads of light glimmering across the metal bars like dormant lightning.
Two guards stood there, spears at their sides. They straightened immediately when they saw Lyf.
"Vault," one said, nodding sharply. "Didn't realize you were scheduled."
"Last-minute favor," Lyf replied with an easy wave. "General's orders. External training session. Try not to gossip too much, or you'll ruin all my mystique."
The other guard's gaze slid to Orin, then to Kahn-Ra. The bobcat met the look with unblinking, golden eyes. The guard looked away first.
"This sanctioned?" he asked.
Lyf's grin sharpened just a little. "When I say Lox's name out loud, that usually answers the question, doesn't it?"
Both guards shifted their weight, a subtle sign of respect—or nerves.
"Open it up," the first one said.
The gate creaked as the wards pulsed, lines of light flaring briefly before settling back to a dim hum. Cool air rushed through as the passage beyond came into view.
Lyf gestured grandly. "After you, Slain. And you, whiskers."
Kahn-Ra's tail flicked once.
Whiskers, he repeated in Orin's head, with the kind of offended calm that promised revenge in some distant, patient future.
Orin stepped through.
Beyond the gate, the world changed.
The training hollow lay carved out of the rock, a broad bowl encircled by sheer stone walls. The ground was a patchwork of scorched earth, broken stone, and old impact marks. Some sections looked like something had exploded there; others bore deep claw-grooves or cracks that spiderwebbed outward from single points.
Wards were worked into the walls and floor, faintly glowing sigils and geometric patterns that made the air feel denser, like it was holding its breath. There were no bleachers. No watching students. No open sky visible over nearby rooftops—just a slice of clouds high above, framed by the ring of stone.
It didn't feel like any training yard Orin had seen.
It felt like a place built to hold something in.
Lyf hopped down from the short ledge near the entrance and walked to the center of the hollow, stretching his arms overhead until his joints popped.
"Welcome to one of General Lox's favorite toys," he said. "We break things in here so we don't break the academy."
Orin followed more slowly, boots crunching over cracked earth. Kahn-Ra padded to the edge of the bowl and settled there, folding his paws neatly beneath him. He looked, to anyone else, like a relaxed cat observing a sunny clearing.
Orin knew better. Those eyes missed nothing.
"So," Lyf said, turning to face Orin fully. His tone shifted, the humor still there but threaded with something more solid. "Let's keep this simple."
He lifted a hand and held up one finger.
"First: I'm not here to turn you into a weapon for someone else. If Lox wanted that, he'd throw you into a front line and see who survived. I'm here because you're interesting and dangerous in a way that gets people killed if it isn't handled. I like staying alive, and I like watching other people manage the same trick."
Second finger.
"Second: I am going to push you. Hard. Right up to the edge of losing yourself. Because that edge is where people like you actually learn. You've already seen what happens when you go over it. We're going to teach you how to walk along it without falling."
Third finger.
"Third: You can leave. Right now. Walk back through that gate. No contracts, no binding oath, no chains. I'll tell Lox you weren't ready." He shrugged. "But the next time something like that Vrexus stands in front of you, and you hesitate, and someone dies because of it… that's on you. Not on me. Not on your blood. Just you."
The words hung there in the charged air.
Orin swallowed.
The worn edges of Sonny's letter brushed his thoughts—Sonny's rough handwriting, that line about Hachi, about control, about living. Lisa's last words. Vince's laugh. Vice's calm voice cutting through panic. Miss Sarah's hands on his face when he told her what he'd done.
He looked down at his hands.
Human. Scarred. Trembling just a little.
He flexed them once.
"I'm not walking away," he said quietly. "If there's a chance I can… live with this and not hurt the people around me, I have to take it. Even if I hate every second."
Lyf's mouth quirked. "Good answer."
Behind Orin's eyes, Kahn-Ra's presence settled, cool and sharp.
Choosing to be shaped is better than pretending you are already finished, the bobcat said.
Orin let out a slow breath. "All right," he said. "What do we start with?"
Lyf's grin came back, full force.
"Lesson one is straightforward," he said. He rolled his shoulders and dropped into a loose fighting stance that still somehow screamed control. "Try to hit me."
Orin blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it," Lyf said. "Hit me. With everything you've got that isn't turning this place into another graveyard. I want to see what the 'real deal' looks like before we start fixing your bad habits."
Orin's jaw tightened.
He slid his dual cleavers free, the familiar weight settling into his hands. He dropped into his own stance, bruised muscles complaining, ribs throbbing.
Across the hollow, Lyf bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, smiling like this was the best part of his day.
Above them, the slice of sky watched in silence.
On the edge of the arena, Kahn-Ra's tail curled neatly around his paws. His golden eyes tracked every movement.
Orin drew in one long breath, feeling the faint, unwanted heat deep in his chest—the place where power slept, where claws and fur and teeth waited.
Not now, he told it. Not this time.
Then he pushed off the cracked ground and charged.