Three days of training felt like three lifetimes compressed into dream sessions.
Gia pushed me harder than she ever had before. Mental anchoring exercises that left my consciousness feeling raw. Combat drills against multiple intelligent opponents that adapted to my every move. Soul reconstruction practice on simulated fragments scattered across the training space.
By the end of day three, I could hold my mental anchor against psychological attacks for extended periods. I could fight five adaptive opponents simultaneously. I could identify and reassemble scattered consciousness pieces in minutes instead of hours.
It wasn't perfect. Gia made that clear repeatedly.
"You're functional," she said after the final training session. "Not good. Not ready. Just barely functional."
"It'll have
