A week had passed.
Each sunrise bled across the jagged ridgelines of the mountains. The wind still howled, but Fenrik no longer winced at the cold. His body was young, but the fire inside him burned with purpose.
Each morning began the same way: silence.
Erik would sit cross-legged by the cave mouth, his tattered cloak draped loosely around his shoulders, face half-hidden in the steam of hot herbal brew. Fenrik would follow suit, mirroring him. No words, just breath. In. Out. Essence, Erik called it. The soul's voice made physical.
"Keep still," Erik murmured once, barely louder than the wind. "You are listening to your body. Don't listen with your ears. Feel."
Fenrik didn't fully understand. But he felt something. At first, like warmth in his chest. Then, a sensation that seemed to shimmer—slowly spreading through his limbs. He'd asked Erik what it meant. The old man had only smiled.
"You're starting to circulate your essence. That's the first step."
They spoke more freely after that.
"Why is it so important to circulate it?" Fenrik had asked, poking at the embers of their morning fire with a stick.
Erik glanced at him sideways, the flames dancing in his eyes. "Your pool of essence is small. You're still a cub in every sense. But if you can master efficiency—if you can draw out your essence instantly from anywhere in your body—you'll stand a chance against those with far more."
"So... like using what little I have better?"
"Exactly. Like trying to win a battle with a single arrow. You don't waste it. You make it count."
Fenrik had nodded, chewing on that thought.
"And the meditation?"
"It helps you increase the circulation. Think of it like deepening the channels in a river. The more you stay in that state, the stronger and faster the flow becomes. With time, you won't just feel your essence in your limbs—you'll feel it in your organs, your tissues, your cells."
"That sounds... overwhelming."
Erik had chuckled. "It is."
"You said something about transcending. What did you mean by that?"
For the first time, Erik looked genuinely serious. His eyes clouded with memory. "You'll understand in a few years."
Present:
A few weeks had passed.
A hundred leaves, enhanced by Erik's essence, slashed through the air like knives, dancing on invisible currents.
Fenrik twisted, dropped into a roll, and came up swinging. His blindfold was tight across his eyes, but he could sense the old man's position—barely.
"You're even crazier when sober, you old man!"
Erik cackled from somewhere behind. With a flick of his wrist, another wave of papercut-sharp leaves screamed toward Fenrik by moving them telepathically via essence.
"I take that as a compliment!"
Fenrik leapt, narrowly avoiding a leaf that would've split his cheek. He slammed his hand into a tree trunk, flipping upward into the branches. His breathing was calm. Intentional.
Erik's voice cut through the rustling forest.
"A hundred years ago, some scientists published a paper saying that all things—living or nonliving—are made of atoms. Tiny particles. Everything."
Fenrik ducked a branch. "Hold up—A hundred years ago? How old are you?!"
"One hundred and forty-five."
Fenrik's foot missed a branch in shock. He stumbled, caught himself, and yelled, "You what?!"
"Focus!" Erik barked.
A new flurry of leaves screamed in. Fenrik growled and pivoted mid-air, claws outstretched, slicing through a few—but more were coming.
"Allow me to finish," Erik said with maddening calm. "Atoms make up complex molecules. Some of those, by sheer chance, formed cells. Cells became life. So, what really separates the living from the nonliving?"
Fenrik huffed, "I don't know, the fact that I'm being attacked by leaves right now?"
"Will," Erik said simply, "Will is the difference. Essence and will—two attributes of the same soul", as he increased the speed of the leaves in response to Fenrik's sarcasm
Fenrik snarled as a leaf nicked his shoulder. He dropped into a lower stance, trying to feel the direction of the incoming attacks.
"Animals have more will than plants. They act, decide. That's what essence really is. The power to enact your desire upon the world. Physical bodies are one way. But essence... essence is deeper."
"So essence is like a... soul shortcut?"
"In a way. Why do you think muscle memory exists? Your cells remember. They have their own will. Their souls are interdependent and work in unison. The same thing can be applied to nature: we are connected by food chains and cycles like the Carbon and Oxygen cycle. The Earth, in a sense, also possesses a soul and maybe even the universe if there are other living planets. The physical world is like a giant ocean and things create ripples in them-a presence. Living things create bigger ripples than non living things, animals create bigger ripples than plants while we that can utilise essence create the most ripples. Feel the ripples."
Fenrik stilled.
The world changed.
He shut down his hearing. His smell. He focused only on essence.
The world unfolded—not in sight, but in sensation. He felt Erik's signature. The dance of the leaves. The birds hiding in branches. Everything within ten meters pulsed softly like ripples in water.
He dodged the next wave with ease.
"Good," Erik said. "Now link that sense to your other senses. Use your hearing, your smell, your instincts. Your Lupian blood is a gift."
Fenrik focused again.
Suddenly the world became three-dimensional in his mind. From a vague fog, it shifted into sharp clarity. Depth. Motion. He could see without seeing.
He pounced.
His claws swiped at Erik's chest—and sliced air.
An afterimage.
"That's cheating!" Fenrik shouted.
Erik only laughed, fading from view. "The world isn't fair."
Fenrik remembered the fire. The betrayal. The climb. The cave.
Right.
He fought harder.
Three Days Later
Fenrik crouched on a high ledge, overlooking a narrow ravine. His breathing was steady. He'd grown faster, stronger. He could temporarily boost his strength and speed using essence. His claws cut deeper now, his senses sharper.
Erik stood beside him, arms crossed.
"You're ready."
Fenrik raised an eyebrow. "Ready for what?"
"Follow me."
They walked through thick underbrush until they reached a dark pit carved into the earth.
"What do you sense?" Erik asked.
Fenrik squinted. Then he focused.
"Twenty-five feet deep. Humid. Something... many somethings. Goblins. At least fifty."
Erik nodded. "A hundred. Six came here years ago. The rest are their children and maybe grandkids."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Nothing much. Just kill all of them."
"WHAT?!"
With a kick Erik launched him into the pit.
He landed hard, knees buckling, chin scraping the dirt. His hands splayed against the cold, damp ground as he rolled onto his feet. In the darkness, the scent of rot, sweat, and moss assaulted him. He extended his essence—light bloomed in his mind's eye.
"Very funny, old man!!!"
The first goblin was already upon him.
Two and a half feet of snarling malice, with mottled green skin, jagged teeth like broken glass, and eyes that gleamed yellow in the darkness. It wielded a crude dagger made from sharpened bone.
Instinct took over. Fenrik sidestepped, letting the goblin's momentum carry it past him. In a swift counter, he slashed with his claws—essence-enhanced and honed by the week of brutal training.
The goblin fell with a gurgling screech. But its cry was not in vain.
From the shadows, dozens more stirred. Red eyes blinked awake. Snarls echoed. The walls came alive with movement. Goblins were crawling from every crack like rats sensing blood.
"Just great it called its friends," Fenrik muttered. "He knew this would happen."
Then they charged.
The first wave came fast—ten goblins fanning out around him. Fenrik ducked low, claws slashing in an upward arc. One head flew. Another goblin jumped onto his back, stabbing at his shoulder. He twisted, grabbed its arm, and slammed it into the ground with a sickening crunch.
Essence flared through his legs. He leapt backward, landing on the wall and kicking off to avoid the swarm converging where he'd stood.
He'd trained for this. Meditation while moving. Essence efficiency. Constant circulation. Every movement was life or death. He couldn't waste energy. He had to draw essence instantly—no hesitation.
A goblin with a spear lunged. Fenrik dropped to his knees, letting the weapon slice overhead, and slashed its hamstrings. It dropped screaming. He moved on without watching it die.
A few had rudimentary armor—scraps of metal and wood strapped with sinew. Some even had small essence auras, unstable and raw. That worried him. If they learned essence, even crudely, they could become a real threat.
For hours it was a dance of death. Goblin claws nicked his sides. He got tackled twice. Bitten once. Blood slicked his arms. But each time, he adapted. His circulation increased. His movements became smoother, deadlier.
By the time the last goblin fell—its throat ripped out in a final surge of rage—Fenrik was panting, hunched over, body trembling from exhaustion.
He dragged himself through a narrow tunnel—one he sensed during the fight. His claws glowed faintly with essence, lighting the path as he crawled through the muck.
At the end of the tunnel, light blinded him. He emerged into the forest clearing where Erik lay reclined on a large rock, casually eating an apple.
"Three hours and twelve minutes," Erik said,"You're faster than I expected."
Fenrik collapsed beside him. "You almost killed me."
Erik grinned. "You're alive, aren't you? And stronger. Essence flows faster, doesn't it? Healing's sped up too."
Fenrik blinked. Then closed his eyes and checked. He could feel it. The tingling sensation of essence coursing like a stream in spring thaw—quicker, deeper.
"Huh," he muttered. "You're right."
"Of course I am. Everyone improves with their backs against the wall but Lupians improve best under pressure. Especially near-death pressure."
Fenrik rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I need a shower. And food. Maybe a week of sleep."
Erik tossed him another apple. "Welcome to real training."
As the sun dipped below the trees, Fenrik sat quietly on a boulder, staring into the glowing orange sky. His body ached. His claws were stained. But something inside him had shifted.
He felt deeper. Sharper. More alive.
The words Erik spoke returned to him: "Essence is soul. And you, Fenrik, have more soul than you know."
He didn't fully understand it yet. But the path was beginning to reveal itself.
Tomorrow, it would start all over again.
But tonight, he breathed—and for once, it felt like the world breathed with him.