Luna doesn't call it training.
She calls it damage control.
"Because," she says, standing across from me on the abandoned rooftop at dawn, "you're already bleeding. I'm just trying to stop you from hemorrhaging."
I rub my arms against the cold morning air. "Comforting."
"You'll survive," she replies. "Probably."
I snort. "You're really selling this."
She ignores that.
"Rule one," she says, pacing slowly. "You don't rewind out of panic anymore."
I frown. "That's kind of my thing."
"Not if you want to keep anything of yourself," she snaps. "Panic causes uncontrolled pulls. That's when time takes whatever it wants."
"So what do I do instead?" I ask.
She stops in front of me.
"You decide," she says. "Before you act."
I stare at her. "That's it?"
"No," she adds. "You anchor the decision."
She gestures to my pocket. The notebook.
"You choose what you're willing to lose," she continues. "Before time chooses for you."
I swallow.
"That's possible?"
"Barely," she says. "And only if you're honest with yourself."
She steps back and raises a hand.
"First exercise," she says. "Five-second rewind."
"That's nothing."
"It's everything," she replies. "Do it."
I close my eyes.
I don't rush.
I think of the notebook.Of the line I wrote.I chose to fight.
I focus.
Five seconds.
The pull comes—lighter than usual. Controlled.
My head aches, but it doesn't scream.
I open my eyes.
Luna's hand is lowered.
"Good," she says. "What did you lose?"
I check myself.
Name.Place.Purpose.
Still there.
But something's… softer.
I try to remember the taste of my favorite food.
It takes longer than it should.
"…Delay," I say.
She nods. "Sensory memories go first when you keep emotions intact."
"That's better than the other way around," I mutter.
"Yes," she agrees. "But it adds up."
We repeat it.
Again.
And again.
Each rewind hits a little harder.
By the fourth try, sweat drips down my spine.
By the sixth, my hands are shaking.
"Stop," Luna says.
I open my mouth to argue—
Then the world tilts and I nearly fall.
She catches me instantly.
"Don't be stupid," she mutters, holding me upright. "You're not proving anything."
I laugh weakly. "Could've fooled me."
She doesn't let go right away.
Her grip is firm. Real.
Anchor-like.
"When it starts feeling easy," she says quietly, "that's when you stop."
I nod, breathing hard. "Because that's when I'm losing more than I notice."
"Yes."
I steady myself and step back.
"So what's rule two?" I ask.
She hesitates.
Then: "You don't rewind for strangers."
That hits.
"What?" I snap. "That's—"
"How your father died," she cuts in. "How your bloodline was drained dry."
I clench my fists. "So I just let people die?"
"No," she says sharply. "You choose who matters."
I think of the fire.Of the girl I caught.Of how easy it felt.
That future me with empty eyes flickers in my mind.
"…Okay," I say finally. "Rule two."
She exhales, like she's been holding that in.
"There's a third rule," she adds.
"Let me guess," I mutter. "It sucks."
"It's about me," she says.
I look up.
"If I tell you to stop," she continues, "you stop. No arguments. No last-second heroics."
I meet her gaze.
"And if someone dies because of that?"
Her voice doesn't waver. "Then that's on me."
I study her face.
The resolve.The guilt she's already carrying.
"…Alright," I say. "Rule three."
We stand there in silence for a moment.
The sun creeps higher.
Time moves forward.
"You're learning fast," she says.
"Do I get a medal?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "You get scars."
"Already got those."
She looks at me—really looks.
"…Ren," she says quietly. "If this works… you might survive the stewards."
"And if it doesn't?"
Her expression softens. Just a little.
"Then you'll still die as yourself."
I nod.
I can live with that.