The training yard was quiet under the early morning light, dust rising faintly where boots had kicked at the cobblestones.
Leon stood opposite Irina, who moved with precise, calculated steps, her fists striking and retracting in a fluid rhythm.
Valeta was close by, shadowed by her own sparring partner, Garret, moving hesitantly but carefully, leaning into the flow of motion rather than forcing it.
Ensis paced along the edge of the yard, silver eyes sharp and observant, occasionally nodding or tilting his head. Vex lingered near a rack of relics, muttering to himself as he checked each one's bindings.
"Control," Ensis said, voice low but carrying across the yard. "Focus on your core. Every strike, every hold, control it, or you'll break yourself before the wraiths even see you."
Leon tightened his grip on the wooden practice sheath he held, watching Irina as she pivoted, her motions smooth but calculated. He adjusted his stance, knees bent just enough, shoulders loose, eyes not on the weapon but the opponent's center of gravity.
The clash of wooden swords rang out, echoing in the stone courtyard. Valeta's movements were quieter, subtle, almost too careful, as though she feared her own body might betray her. Leon caught a glimpse of her eyes flicking down to the faint scar along her side and realized she was still measuring the limits of what she could do without hurting herself.
Ensis' voice cut sharply through the yard. "That'll be enough." Both pairs stopped, panting lightly, bows of acknowledgment exchanged with their partners. "Good. Precision over strength. Next round, focus on restraint, not on force."
Leon took a moment to breathe, letting the tension in his shoulders fade, then glanced at Valeta, who returned a brief nod before turning her attention back to Garret.
***
Weeks of training passed in a blur. Leon's days became a cycle of learning, practicing, failing, and adapting.
It was exhausting, but there was a rhythm to it, a structure he had never had.
The last few months felt like waking into an entirely new life. He had been thrust into a world where survival depended on more than skill with a weapon, whether that was a revolver or a dagger.
It required knowledge, caution, and an understanding of forces he had once thought he would never need in the office.
Learning the relics had been both fascinating and terrifying. Each one held a power that could be wielded or misused; both Valeta and Leon quickly understood that a single careless movement could mean death.
They were not toys; they were the lingering will of exorcists long dead, bound with loose wraiths that could twist reality if provoked.
The early days of handling them were cautious, even with the weaker ones. He would move slowly, eyes flicking over the faint inscriptions, fingers brushing only where he had been instructed, and even then, he kept his other hand hovering above the object, ready to release at a moment's notice.
Leon had never known how to fight, never needed to, but learning to fight without relying on instinct alone, while respecting his body and the boundaries of his new abilities, was humbling.
Garret pushed him, always emphasizing the smallest mistakes, foot placement, timing, breath.
Irina forced him to combine precision and aggression in ways he had never attempted.
Vex, silent and stoic, occasionally offered insights, forcing Leon to think beyond brute force and analyze the flow of energy in a fight.
It was all different; everything had to be learned, and even with the muscle memories which this body gave him, it wasn't at all easy.
The first time he sparred with Ensis, Leon realized just how far he had to go.
Ensis didn't move quickly, not in a way that could be measured by speed alone. It was in the spaces between moves, the way he anticipated attacks before they happened.
Each strike Leon made was met with a shift, a slight adjustment that redirected or absorbed it without overt effort.
Leon walked away bruised and exhausted, but alive, and something in him clicked: combat was not only about striking, but about becoming the space in which strikes could be avoided entirely.
Through it all, Leon's wraith, the wolf sigil on his wrist, the presence under his skin, was a constant companion.
Once, he had struggled.
But slowly, he learned to coexist. The wraith was not an enemy. It never was one to begin with.
Every day, Leon recorded small notes to himself, fragments of insight on tactics, relics, and the wraith.
He noted how it pulsed, when it flared, how it interacted with his physical exertion, and gradually, patterns emerged. He could tell when it was calm, when it was restless, and when he could safely allow it to lend him its strength.
The exorcist exercises were grueling but necessary. The squad began to operate in tandem slowly. Garret and Leon sparred against one another to anticipate attacks, Irina challenged Valeta to hold the center line against multiple opponents, and Ensis oversaw the coordination.
Vex mostly watched, offering occasional corrections about positioning and technique, but the knowledge he carried, silent, deep, and almost cryptic, was never far from Leon's mind.
***
One afternoon, after another round of training that left his limbs sore and his chest thumping, Leon found himself leaning against the outer wall of the courtyard, wooden practice sword in hand.
The sun was low, lamps flickering to life across the stones. He could hear Valeta in the distance, laughing quietly with Garret after a sparring session. He hadn't heard her laugh before; it caught him off guard.
Leon exhaled. The wraith shifted slightly under his skin, content now, not pushing, simply coexisting. He flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle pulse of the sigil.
He had learned to live with it, not fight against it, not suppress it. And in that simple coexistence, he found a fragment of calm, a strange, hard-won peace amid the chaos of a world that would never rest.
As the months continued, he understood the importance of safety, of patience. Relics were dangerous, yes, but manageable. Combat could be brutal, exhausting, and unforgiving, but precision and observation allowed survival. And the wraith… the wraith was no longer a threat. It was a partner, a force to be understood, not feared.
By the end of those weeks, Leon realized something: the world hadn't given him any easy victories, but it had offered him something perhaps more valuable, the ability to survive in it, and the knowledge that he could control what had once controlled him.
He glanced toward the training yard again. Valeta moved with measured grace, Garret and Irina sparred silently, and Ensis watched over them all. The air smelled faintly of dust, steel, and the soft tang of magic lingering from the relics.
Leon closed his eyes briefly, letting the hum of life and the subtle pulse of the wolf beneath his skin steady him. It had been a long, hard road from waking in that cathedral to this quiet moment of control. But for the first time in months, he felt prepared.
And that, he realized, was enough to keep moving forward.