Pa! Pa! Pa!
The steady rhythm of Fenrir's paws thudded against the dirt road, the carriage swaying gently as it carried them further north.
The afternoon sun spilled across the horizon, though its warmth seemed to have been drowned out by the weight of the scene from the last village they had encountered.
Inside the carriage, Lyone sat cross-legged, a Grade Seven essence core floating lightly above his palm. Its faint blue glow pulsed like a heartbeat, essence whispering to him in a rhythm he barely understood.
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead—some even rolling down the front and sides of his face—as he forced himself to reach inward, coaxing his own aura to wrap around the fragment of condensed power.
Across from him, Damien watched quietly, arms folded, his gaze sharp but calm.
"You're forcing it again," Damien said, his voice even. "Don't drag the essence out like a thief breaking into a vault. Invite it. Let it come to you willingly, then claim it."
