"Instinct becomes stronger. Concentration becomes difficult. Mana may begin responding before conscious thought," Michael said with a bow.
Metheea's breath caught. Instinct. She did not like the sound of that.
"How difficult?"
"That depends on the strength of your dragon core."
As if in answer, silver light ran from her fingertips and spread across the floor in thin, restless threads.
Michael watched it for a moment before closing the book. "We need to prevent your mana from becoming more unstable before then."
"How?"
"The symptoms can sometimes be reduced with medicine. It will not stop the heat, but it may dull the physical response and limit the surges."
The priest opened the wooden case and removed one of the narrow glass vials inside. The liquid was nearly clear, with a faint silver cloud suspended at its center.
"This was prepared from an ancestral formula," he said. "The strength was reduced because of the recent strain on your core."
