The training yard was empty when Arin arrived.
It was still dark, the sky above the Crucible a deep purple, the lights along the edges of the yard casting long shadows across the obsidian floor. He had been here before, with Ren, running forms until his arms gave out. But this was different. This wasn't about the blade.
Voss had been clear.
"You have power. You have speed. You have a sword. But against someone who knows how to fight without weapons, you're a liability."
She had handed him a small card with a name and a location.
"Report to him tomorrow. 0500. Don't be late."
The name was unfamiliar. Arin had asked around. No one knew who he was.
Now he stood alone in the yard, waiting.
The door at the far end slid open.
The man who walked through was shorter than Arin expected. His hair was grey, cropped close to his scalp. His face was lined, weathered, the kind of lines that came from years of exposure to sun and wind. He wore simple clothes—loose pants, a thin shirt, no shoes. His hands were wrapped in tape.
He stopped a few meters from Arin and looked at him.
"You're the one Voss sent."
"Yes."
"Name."
"Arin."
"Just Arin?"
"Just Arin."
The man nodded slowly. He didn't offer his own name.
"I don't teach people who don't want to learn. Do you want to learn?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Arin hesitated. "Because I almost died in my last fight. Because I don't know how to fight without my blade. Because I need to be better."
The man studied him for a long moment.
"That's a start."
He stepped closer.
"Show me your stance."
Arin lowered his center, spread his feet, raised his hands.
The man walked around him slowly, his eyes moving over Arin's posture, his balance, the position of his arms.
"You've had some training."
"A little. From a friend."
"Your friend taught you to fight with a sword."
"Yes."
"But not without one."
"No."
The man stopped in front of him.
"Your weight is too far forward. You're leaning into your strikes. That works when you have a blade in your hand, because the blade extends your reach. Without it, you're just falling."
He tapped Arin's shoulder.
"Step back. Shift your weight to your back foot. Keep your hands up, but loose. Don't clench your fists."
Arin adjusted.
"Better. Now throw a punch."
Arin threw a jab.
The man caught it. His hand closed around Arin's fist like a vice.
"You're tensing your shoulder. Relax. The power comes from your hips, not your arm."
He released Arin's hand.
"Again."
They drilled for an hour.
Basic punches. Blocks. Footwork. Arin had thought he knew how to throw a punch. He had been wrong. Every movement felt awkward, forced. His body wanted to do something else—to reach for a blade that wasn't there, to shift his weight forward, to overextend.
The man corrected him. Over and over.
"You're thinking too much."
"I'm trying to do it right."
"There's no right. There's only what works." He stepped back. "Again."
By the time the sun rose, Arin's arms were heavy, his shoulders ached, and his knuckles were raw.
The man looked at him.
"Same time tomorrow."
"What's your name?"
The man paused at the door.
"Call me Oren."
He walked out.
---
Arin stood alone in the yard, his hands hanging at his sides, his breath fogging in the cold air.
Hana appeared at the edge of the yard, a cup of tea in each hand.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks."
She walked to him and pressed a cup into his hands. The warmth spread through his fingers.
"How was it?"
"Humiliating."
"That's how learning works." She leaned against the wall. "Oren is famous, you know. Or was. Before the Crucible."
"I've never heard of him."
"Most people haven't. He doesn't like attention." She took a sip of her tea. "He trained some of the best hand‑to‑hand fighters in the lower circuits. Retired after an injury. Voss must have pulled a lot of favors to get him here."
Arin looked at the door where Oren had disappeared.
"He didn't teach me anything. Just basics."
"Basics are what you need."
He didn't argue.
The squad gathered for breakfast.
Ren asked how the session went. Arin said it was fine. Maya offered to wrap his knuckles. Dmitri grunted something that might have been encouragement.
Hana was quiet.
After breakfast, she pulled Arin aside.
"You're thinking about Lina."
"Always."
"That's not going to help you in the trials."
"I know."
"Then what are you going to do about it?"
He looked at her.
"Win. Fast. Then go back."
She studied him for a moment. Then she nodded.
"Good."
The next morning, Arin returned to the yard.
Oren was already there, standing in the center, his eyes closed.
"You're early."
"I want to learn."
Oren opened his eyes.
"Then let's begin."