His limbs felt heavy as he staggered upright, the weight of fatigue dragging against every step. A cold sweat clung to his skin, and his heart thundered against his ribs—not from exertion, but from something deeper.
Something off.
His body wasn't just tired—it was strained, like a thread pulled too tight.
"If you try to force Resonance with an empty Aether pool, you get nothing. If you push too hard, you shatter your Soul Core—and that's not something you recover from easily. Over-draining can sever your connection to Resonance entirely. Temporarily if you're lucky. Permanently if you're not."
His professor's voice echoed sharply in his memory.
Ezra exhaled shakily and summoned his Archive.
The screen blinked into existence before him, glowing softly in the forest's smoke-filled haze.
[ Resonance Archive Updating… ]
Soul Core: Awakening (Incomplete)
Aether Circulation: 32% (Limited Flow)
Aether Capacity: 200 / 1000
Synchronization: Unstable (18%)
Lightflow Control: 12% (Weak)
Abilities Available: [2 / 7 Unlocked]
Soul Sanctuary: [Locked]
Soul Realm: [Undiscovered]
Ezra grimaced.
Aether Circulation: 32%.
No wonder everything felt sluggish.
Circulation dictated how freely his Aether flowed through his system. At full capacity, it was smooth—like liquid light. At 32%, it was more like dragging power through thick sludge.
Even worse…
Aether Capacity: 200 out of 1000.
He'd burned through too much. Using his resonance—especially Dawnstride and Luminous Bindings—had drained a significant chunk of his reserves. At this rate, he wouldn't last long in another encounter.
"Circulation low, capacity low. I'm basically running on fumes."
Aether would regenerate, slowly—like filling a well drop by drop. But unless he found a shard soon, he was going to stay grounded.
He rubbed at his arms, trying to will the ache away.
No Resonance without Aether.
It was a balance—power and restraint. The kind of balance he had yet to master.
But he would.
He had to.
Ezra dismissed the Archive with a swipe of his fingers, stealing one last glance at the still-smoking clearing behind him. The two men were still out cold—one slumped in the grass, the other still dangling upside down like a broken carnival prize.
He turned away with a groan and kept walking, his legs sore and dragging slightly.
He needed rest. And a shard. Preferably in that order.
Following the direction the men had come from, he pressed the red buttons on their watches as he passed. Their names blinked out from the trial rankings with a satisfying beep.
"Thanks for the rank boost, losers."
After a short trek through thickets and overgrown roots, he stumbled onto a crooked little shack tucked between two trees—its wooden panels weathered, roof sagging like it had given up on life years ago.
"Ah. A shack. Perfect."
Ezra approached cautiously, just in case someone had beaten him to it, but a quick peek through the grimy window showed nothing but old furniture and cobwebs. No tripwires, no glyphs, no lurking psychos.
"Thank the stars."
He slipped inside, the door creaking obnoxiously as it swung open. The air was stale and cold, thick with the scent of old wood and damp mildew. Dust hung in the light like lazy ghosts.
Still, it was quiet. Safe. Shelter.
There was a rusted bed frame shoved into the corner of the room, its mattress slumped and frayed, but to Ezra? It looked like royalty's finest.
He all but collapsed onto it, groaning as he stretched out, arms tucked behind his head.
"Finally," he muttered, shutting his eyes. "Just five minutes of peace."
The silence settled in. The ache in his body started to dull.
And then—
He opened his eyes.
Stared up.
And froze.
There was something above him.
Something massive.
Something black.
Something… staring.