The Citadel's lower dojo was nearly empty that morning.
The usual buzz of cadets had faded, replaced by silence and the low hum of energy conduits pulsing through the obsidian floor. The training grounds were bathed in faint amber light — dawn filtered through the barrier above.
Sirius Blake stood in the center, his katana sheathed, breathing steady. His mind was clear, focused. He had already been awake for hours.
Cor had sent him here alone, saying only: "Zangan will find you."
So he waited.
The sound came not from the door, but from the ceiling — a faint thud, followed by a lazy voice. "Still punctual, huh? You really are Cor's student."
Zangan dropped from a support beam, landing lightly on the floor. His usual grin was in place, though his eyes held a rare seriousness.
"Master," Sirius greeted.
"Don't call me that," Zangan said. "Makes me sound responsible."
"You trained me."
"Yeah, and I still haven't decided if that was a good idea."
He smirked, stepping closer. "Heard you got yourself a shiny new badge."
Sirius touched the pocket where it rested. "Candidate Corps."
Zangan nodded. "Big step. Bigger fall, if you're not careful."
Sirius frowned. "Cor said the same thing."
"He would," Zangan said. "That's why I'm here — to make sure you don't forget what balance feels like before it's too late."
---
He gestured toward the center of the floor. "Draw your blade."
Sirius did.
"Now," Zangan said, circling him, "show me how you fight when you're not being watched."
Sirius hesitated, then moved — clean, efficient motions flowing one into the next. Every swing, every pivot had purpose. His steps were near silent; his breathing, controlled.
When he finished, the silence felt heavy, almost sacred.
Zangan clapped once, slowly. "Beautiful. Terrifying. Completely wrong."
Sirius blinked. "Wrong?"
Zangan stepped closer, poking his chest. "That's not fighting, kid. That's surgery. Every movement's perfect, every angle calculated — no emotion, no instinct. You're not alive in there."
Sirius frowned slightly. "Emotion clouds judgment."
"Emotion gives judgment meaning," Zangan countered. "You're chasing perfection so hard you're starting to lose what made you human in the first place."
He pointed at Sirius' blade. "That thing doesn't need another machine behind it. It needs a soul."
---
They faced each other again.
"Attack me," Zangan said.
Sirius obeyed.
The first exchange was fast — his blade cut through the air, but Zangan's movements were relaxed, loose, almost lazy. He dodged without even trying, deflecting strikes with the side of his forearm, never committing to a full block.
Sirius pressed harder. His precision increased — every movement sharper, faster.
Zangan flowed around him like water, grinning faintly. "You're too tight, too exact. You think control means rigidity. Wrong. Real control is freedom."
Sirius swung low; Zangan caught the blade flat between his palms, twisting it out of Sirius' grasp in one fluid motion.
The katana clattered to the floor.
Zangan stepped back, smiling. "See? You forgot how to move."
Sirius retrieved his weapon, his jaw tight. "Then teach me again."
---
Zangan exhaled, walking to the center. "Balance isn't about standing still. It's about shifting with the world without losing your center."
He tapped Sirius' chest lightly. "You've built strength around fear — fear of failing, fear of loss, fear of being weak. But strength built on fear breaks the moment you stop being afraid."
Sirius's eyes narrowed. "Then what should it be built on?"
Zangan's grin faded. "Understanding."
He pointed to the floor. "There's a difference between fighting to survive and fighting to live. You've done the first all your life. It's time to learn the second."
---
The next round of training was different.
Zangan didn't strike. He moved.
He forced Sirius to follow — not with attacks, but rhythm. Every shift of weight, every turn of the wrist, every pause was deliberate.
Sirius followed, confused at first. It felt less like combat and more like a dance.
"Stop focusing on winning," Zangan said. "Feel the rhythm. Every fight has a pulse. Find it."
Sirius exhaled, matching the older man's steps.
Their motions synced — fluid, alive. Sirius' body began to respond not to thought, but to feeling. The tension eased from his shoulders. The blade's movements grew lighter, freer.
"Good," Zangan said quietly. "Now breathe."
Sirius inhaled slowly, exhaled through the motion.
"Balance isn't silence, Sirius. It's sound in harmony with itself."
Their blades crossed, the contact ringing like a bell — not clashing, but singing.
For the first time in months, Sirius smiled during training.
---
After a final sequence, Zangan stopped and lowered his guard. "That's it. That's what I wanted to see."
Sirius wiped sweat from his brow. "What changed?"
"You stopped fighting like a weapon," Zangan said. "You started fighting like a person."
Sirius tilted his head. "Cor teaches control."
"And I teach balance," Zangan said. "Control keeps you alive. Balance lets you live long enough to make it matter."
He looked toward the city beyond the chamber's window. "Power's a dangerous thing, kid. It doesn't just change what you can do — it changes who you are. And the more you wield it, the harder it gets to tell where it ends and you begin."
Sirius sheathed his katana slowly. "Then how do I keep that line clear?"
Zangan smiled faintly. "By remembering what your power's for — not who it's against."
---
They sat afterward by the edge of the training hall, feet dangling above the illuminated floor. The city stretched below, golden veins of magitek light running through every street.
Sirius broke the silence first. "You ever feel like the stronger you get, the smaller the world becomes?"
Zangan smirked. "All the time. Power doesn't make the world bigger. It just makes your cage invisible."
Sirius looked thoughtful. "Then what's the point?"
"The point," Zangan said, "is to know it's a cage — and still choose to walk free inside it."
Sirius blinked. "That sounds like something Cor would say."
Zangan grinned. "We have our moments."
---
As the sun began to dip beyond the barrier, Zangan stood and stretched. "Alright, lesson's over. Go eat something. You look like you've been surviving on discipline and guilt again."
Sirius chuckled quietly. "You're not wrong."
"I never am."
He started toward the exit, but paused at the doorway. "Oh — one more thing."
Sirius looked up. "Yes?"
Zangan's voice softened. "Balance isn't permanent. It's something you keep rebuilding, one breath at a time. Don't chase perfection, kid. Just keep yourself human."
Sirius nodded. "I'll try."
Zangan smiled. "Good. That's all anyone ever can."
Then he was gone, leaving only the hum of the hall and the faint echo of his footsteps.
---
Sirius stood there for a long moment, gazing at his reflection in the polished floor. The boy he saw there looked calm — too calm. But behind the serenity, he sensed it: movement. Rhythm.
He drew his katana and began to move again — not drills, not forms, just motion. Flowing. Balanced.
The blade sang softly through the air, catching the faint golden light as dusk settled over the city.