Official rank-450 distill, downranked so it sits next to the 22B dev transformer on a consumer GPU. Same keys. Same B @ A delta. Smaller files.
8 steps. CFG 1. Apply on dev, never on an already-distilled checkpoint. Not an official Lightricks release.
Rank gate
Each video is one prompt, one seed, three ranks. Generated at 1MP (multiples of 32), then scaled so the short edge is 720. Length is 121 frames at 24 fps (~5.04s), looped three times.
prompt + settings
r256
r128
r64
The soundtrack is concatenated r64 → r128 → r256. The speaker lamp on the cell is the rank you are hearing.
Start with r128. Use r256 when VRAM allows. r64 is the small pack.
A tight square medium shot frames a Japanese taiko drummer in a cedar dojo at night, the odaiko’s taut cowhide filling the lower half of the frame, iron rivets catching a hard sidelight from an open shoji. He is a man in his thirties, shaved sides, a topknot dark with sweat, wearing a soaked indigo happi with white family crests at the shoulders; veins stand out on his forearms as both oak bachi rise. The camera holds still, then eases a slow push-in toward the drumhead as he shouts a raw kakegoe and the sticks smash the hide in unison, a spray of sweat and dust exploding into the beam. Deep drum thunder shakes the wooden floorboards, the rim rings metallic, and his breath rasps between hits. A hard cut transitions to an extreme close-up of the bachi biting the drum skin, hide vibrating in concentric ripples, cedar dust hanging in the light; the drum continues across the cut, now felt in the chest. Another hard cut jumps to a low-angle shot from the floor looking up his torso as he lifts both arms for the next strike, paper lanterns swaying, and he bellows, “Sore!” before the sticks come down again.
A vertical medium portrait frames a glassblower in a hot shop, brick glory-hole roaring behind her, the orange gather at the end of a steel blowpipe filling the upper third of the frame. She is in her forties, ash-blonde hair pinned under a sweat-dark bandana, leather forearm guards, a soot-smudged cotton tank, cheeks hollowed as she puffs the pipe. Heat-haze warps the firebrick. The camera slowly pushes toward her face and the glowing glass as she turns the pipe with practiced wrists, the gather lengthening, a thin skin of cooler glass wrinkling then smoothing. Gas roar fills the room, a wet hiss as she breathes into the pipe, metal jacks ticking the marver off-screen. A hard cut transitions to a macro close-up of the molten gather rotating, internal bubbles drifting, the surface going from lemon to deep amber; the furnace roar continues, slightly muffled. She murmurs, “Easy… stay round.” Another hard cut jumps to a three-quarter shot as she swings the pipe in a short arc, the glass stretching, then seats it back toward the glory-hole, embers popping, leather creaking, and a distant radio playing a tinny country song under the fire.
A full-length standing shot frames a flamenco dancer on a worn wooden tablao in a small Madrid peña, her head near the top of the frame and her nailed heels near the base. She is in her late twenties, black hair oiled into a tight bun with a single red carnation, a black bata de cola with a long ruffled train pooling behind her, a carved tortoise comb, gold hoop earrings, sweat at her temples. A guitarist in a dark jacket sits in shadow on a cane chair behind her right shoulder. The camera holds, then tilts down with her as she stamps a sharp sequence of heelwork, the train snapping like a whip, one arm carved overhead, fingers flowering. Hard heels crack the wood, palmas clap off-screen, a low guitar rasgueado growls, and she releases a raw grito. A hard cut transitions to a close-up of her face in three-quarter light, eyes half-lidded, jaw set; the guitar continues across the cut. She whispers, “Así,” then stamps again. Another hard cut jumps to a low shot of her shoes hammering the boards, sawdust jumping, the train sweeping through frame as a man in the dark shouts “Olé!”
A medium shot from chest to wok frames a night-market chef under a corrugated tin awning, a carbon-steel wok on a roaring jet burner, a column of orange flame leaping as he tosses oil and garlic. He is a man in his fifties, buzzed grey hair, a soaked white T-shirt gone translucent at the chest, a stained apron, a towel over one shoulder, forearms shining. Neon stall signs in Chinese and Thai smear in the rain behind him. The camera handheld-tracks a half-step closer as he jerks the wok, a sheet of fire rolling toward lens, steam and oil glitter hanging in the air. Violent sizzle, whoosh of gas, clanging spatula, motorbikes, and a vendor shouting orders. A hard cut transitions to a tight insert of the spatula scraping caramelized bits, chili oil beading, flame licking the rim; the sizzle continues, crowd muffled. He barks, “Hot plate!” Another hard cut jumps to a slightly wider shot as he plates noodles in one motion, flame dying back to blue, rain ticking the tin roof, and a customer laughs off-camera.
An ultra-tall wide shot from the wet floor of a sandstone slot canyon looks straight up a thin waterfall that drops the full height of the frame, noon sun cutting a hard shaft through the chute, mist turning gold against rust-red walls. Dark varnish streaks, ferns in a crack, a black pool at the base chewing whitewater. The camera slowly tilts up the falling water, then eases a push toward the impact. Constant roar, dripping echoes, a raven calling once far above. A hard cut transitions to a closer shot of the water smashing the pool, droplets hitting the lens, concentric rings racing across black stone; the roar continues, now harsher. Another hard cut jumps to a profile of the chute as wind shears the veil sideways, a rainbow fragment appearing in the mist for a beat, then gone, and a pebble clatters down the wall into the pool.
An extreme low-angle shot from the fern floor looks directly up a single coastal redwood trunk, bark like burnt plates climbing out the top of the frame into a nave of canopy, fog sliding between neighboring trunks. Sword ferns bead with water at the bottom edge. The camera creeps upward along the bark, almost no pan, as a drop falls past lens. Wind in high needles, a woodpecker far above, slow drips from moss, a distant foghorn from the coast. A hard cut transitions to a tighter shot of a branch corridor where fog tears and closes, a Steller’s jay crossing as a dark comma; the wind continues across the cut. Another hard cut jumps even higher, the trunk narrowing, a window of white sky opening, and a raven’s wings beat once, close, then the canopy swallows the sound.
A wide shot frames the Shibuya scramble at night in heavy rain, the whole intersection held in frame, umbrellas crossing in every direction, LED billboards smearing pink and cyan on wet asphalt, taxis hissing through standing water. The camera is locked on a slight high angle, then begins a slow dolly in toward the crossing’s center as the light changes. Rain on nylon, crossing chimes, a dense bed of footsteps and voices, a bus air-brake, J-pop leaking from a storefront. A hard cut transitions to a medium tracking shot at chest height weaving with the crowd, a woman’s clear umbrella passing the lens, neon running down its dome; the chimes continue, traffic muffled. Someone laughs, “Hayaku!” Another hard cut jumps to a low shot of hundreds of shoes and rain-dark hems splashing the painted stripes, reflections of the 109 building breaking apart, then reforming as a motorcycle growls through the far corner.
A three-quarter medium shot frames a blacksmith at an anvil in a dim forge, a bright-yellow blade on the horn, coal fire breathing in the background, leather apron black with scale. He is a broad man in his forties, ginger beard salted with grey, a linen shirt rolled to the elbow, a hammer with a polished hickory haft. The camera holds, then slowly arcs a few degrees around the anvil as he lifts and strikes, sparks bursting toward the lens in a short constellation. Ringing iron, bellows huff, coke crackle, his grunt on the downstroke. A hard cut transitions to an extreme close-up of the hammer face meeting the steel, scale exploding, the blade’s edge flattening; the ring continues, brighter. He mutters, “Draw it out.” Another hard cut jumps to a wider shot as he turns the blade with tongs, slides it back into the fire, the yellow dying to cherry, and a bucket of quench water ticks as a drop hits its surface.
A cinematic wide shot frames a small elephant family walking left to right across golden savanna at dusk, dust kicking into a long low cloud around their feet, acacia silhouettes on the horizon, the sky a huge band of amber and bruise-purple. A matriarch leads, a half-grown calf at her flank, a smaller calf between them, ears fanning. The camera tracks parallel at a distance, holding them as dark shapes against the sky, then eases a gentle push as the calf trots two steps to catch up. Low rumbles, dry grass under heavy feet, distant weaver birds, a light evening wind in the thorn. A hard cut transitions to a medium shot of the calf’s trunk brushing the matriarch’s hind leg, dust sliding off wrinkled skin in the sidelight; the rumbles continue across the cut. Another hard cut jumps to a longer lens on the horizon as they recede, a single oxpecker lifting from a back, and a jackal yips once far off-screen.
A widescreen wide shot frames a desert canyon at blue hour, a mesa on the right third, a vast sky of navy and iron, rain curtains drifting across the gorge, sage in the immediate foreground. The camera is locked on a tripod, then a faint tilt up as a bolt hits the distant mesa, freezing the canyon walls white for a frame. Thunder rolls down the stone, wind in sage, the first fat drops ticking on rock. A hard cut transitions to a closer shot of the overlook lip, rain now streaking, a second flash lighting the far wall in stacked ledges; the thunder continues, closer, the wind louder. Another hard cut jumps to a long-lens shot of the rain shaft walking across the canyon floor, a dry wash starting to run, and a third bolt forks behind the mesa as the thunder arrives almost on top of the light.
An extreme widescreen shot holds an icebreaker’s bow at the left of frame as it smashes a white pack-ice field stretching to the right edge, black water opening in a jagged lead, low Arctic sun flaring along a hard horizon, gulls as specks. Orange hull plates, ice-scoring, a spray of shards. The camera tracks laterally with the bow, almost no tilt, the ice field sliding past. Groaning ice, steel impacts, a deep engine thrum, gulls, wind over the deck. A hard cut transitions to a slightly tighter shot of the stem crushing a pressure ridge, blocks rolling and vanishing into the lead; the engine continues across the cut, a hull groan overlaying it. A man on the wing shouts, “Steady as she goes!” Another hard cut jumps even wider, the ship now a small accent at the far left, the new black lead drawing a crooked line to the sun, and a pressure crack reports like a rifle far out on the pack.
Files
File
Budget
Mean rank
Size
Global recon error vs official r450
ltx25_turbo_distill_r64.safetensors
64
51.4
~1.32 GB
60.0%
ltx25_turbo_distill_r128.safetensors
128
94.3
~2.58 GB
45.9%
ltx25_turbo_distill_r256.safetensors
256
186.7
~5.10 GB
24.2%
reduce_report.json
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Per-layer ranks, uniform vs adaptive
Source: Lightricks’ official r450 distill LoRA in Lightricks/LTX-2.5 (loras/ltx-2.5-22b-distilled-lora-450-bf16.safetensors, ~8.9 GB).
Each pack has 3320 tensors (1660 modules × A/B), matching the official file. A uniform slice at the same size is worse: r64 62.3%, r128 50.0%, r256 33.0% recon error. Adaptive water-fill is the quality-per-byte path.
Median captured singular energy: r64 65.3%, r128 78.2%, r256 92.2%.
How the downrank works
Source. The official r450 LoRA already is the distill delta.
Exact SVD per layer. For each module, W = B @ A is factored without forming the full matrix: QR both sides, SVD the small core. Optimal rank-k approximation of that layer’s official delta.
Water-fill the rank budget. A file labeled r64 / r128 / r256 has the same parameter count as a uniform rank-64 / 128 / 256 slice — not a hard cap of that rank on every layer. Tiny layers stay at r16–r32. Remaining budget goes where the next singular value buys the most energy per parameter. At the r256 budget some layers keep the full official 450.
Save bf16 lora_A / lora_B. Same Comfy key layout. Strength 1.0.
These adapters are Derivatives of LTX-2.5 (including the official distill LoRA) and inherit the LTX-2 Community License Agreement. Entities with annual revenue ≥ US $10,000,000 need a paid commercial license from Lightricks before using LTX-2.x or derivatives. Redistribution must include this license.
Citation
bibtex
1@article{hacohen2025ltx2,
2 title={LTX-2: Efficient Joint Audio-Visual Foundation Model},
3 author={HaCohen, Yoav and Brazowski, Benny and Chiprut, Nisan and others},
4 journal={arXiv preprint arXiv:2601.03233},
5 year={2026}
6}
