From afar, Dylan couldn't see any difference. All he saw were the gems exploding one after another in Maggie's hands, causing veins of anger to pulse on her forehead.
The one who looked even more frustrated was Élisa. After watching Maggie break three gems taken from the male hobgoblins, she immediately replaced them with ones from the females, not wanting her to waste everything.
"And to think there are people who can do it on the first try," she muttered, eyes locked on Maggie, observing her every move. "But then, you did say you're a foreigner in this world, so… your slowness is understandable."
Maggie ignored the jab, her fingers tightening around the new gem — a small, violet stone streaked with silver veins. She inhaled air heavy with ashes, trying to recapture that fleeting state of perception. Eyes closed, she dove mentally into the stone.
First came the cold. A black fog clung to her thoughts, sticky, threatening. Negative energy. She pushed it away mentally, like parting a curtain of smoke. Then came the... whispers. Harsh laughter, muffled screams — fragments of consciousness, leftovers from the soul of a hobgoblin female. Maggie felt nausea rise but pushed through.
Finally, at the center, a golden glow pulsed faintly. The essence. She reached for it with her mind, slowly, imagining fingers of light brushing the source. The gem vibrated, emitting a low hum.
"Too hesitant!" barked Élisa. "It's an extraction, not a caress."
A thread of gold escaped the stone, winding toward Maggie's chest. But a shard of consciousness suddenly clung to the flow — visceral rage, a memory of claws sinking into a human throat. Maggie choked back a cry, the connection wavered.
Crack.
The gem splintered, releasing a shockwave that threw her backward.
"What the hell was that?!" she gasped, one hand on her temple, where the echoes of a marauding horde now screamed.
Élisa chuckled, humorless. "A hobgobliness who didn't like her dessert being stolen. The females hold onto emotions better. It's... alive."
Dylan approached, skeptical. "So the more essence we take, the more we inherit their little psychic gifts? Great plan."
"Shut up, Dylan. You're not supposed to distract her," Élisa snapped, tossing another stone to Maggie. "Do it again. But this time, control the flow. Like taming a wild horse."
Sweat mixed with blood trickled down Maggie's neck. She closed her eyes, resolute. The golden light reappeared, intertwined with screams. She inhaled and pulled — not with force, but with cold authority. The essence gave in, slipping into her like a docile viper.
A moment passed. Then the gem crumbled to dust, silently.
"Finally," Élisa sighed, one brow raised. "Good. Now repeat. Until you feel their poison in your bones."
Dylan watched, uneasy, as the circle of gems steadily diminished. Each success left an unsettling glow in Maggie's eyes — a golden glint, almost feral.
He wondered which was more dangerous: the gems… or what they awakened in her.
Thus, in front of Dylan, the twenty-five essence stones from the females and the thirteen from the males had been reduced to ten and five. They had been split so the young elf could have her share, as she also needed them to reinforce her body.
Apparently, these stones had even more beneficial side effects. They enhanced regeneration capabilities, and once they reached "Awakening," their traits would become more defined, and their physical flaws reduced.
Now that Maggie had absorbed everything, she remained seated on a cut tree trunk, eyes closed, following Élisa's guidance, helping her "purify" the spiritual essence, as she called it.
He, meanwhile, remained on patrol, eyes wide open for any possible attacks, though he couldn't help but glance at the girls to see how far they had progressed.
Eventually, after nearly half an hour of this stupid meditation, eyes shut, she stood, cracked her knuckles and neck, then walked toward Dylan. She stopped in front of him, gave him a cold stare, and motioned for him to join Élisa, who was still meditating.
"I'm taking over," she said coldly, turning on her heels without further explanation.
Dylan, knowing her temperament, simply nodded, took off his shirt, and sat across from the young elf. He wasn't exactly skinny but not very muscular either. His ebony skin, more like latte-colored, his black hair braided backward, and his bright grey eyes remained fixed on the fire where the flames danced gleefully.
"You're really handsome… you know that?" said a voice that suddenly made him turn his head. Élisa had apparently finished her meditation and was staring at him with eyes a little too curious.
"Ah, thanks. Everyone says that, but it's never really been useful," Dylan replied, staring into the void.
"I come from a world ruined by war, where every day is another survival game where everyone ends up dead. I lived as a mere lieutenant, and because of this face, people assumed it got me promoted, despite everything I did… Honestly, sometimes I wish I wasn't… good-looking."
His gaze turned toward Maggie, and his eyes stayed on her — she stood near the village, cold and impassive as always. Élisa followed his gaze and said:
"You don't seem to be on good terms with your leader. She doesn't look like she's fond of you."
Dylan let out a sigh, but a humorless laugh slipped out with it. He stifled it and said:
"It turns out that among all the people who should've died, I'm the only one who survived. It wasn't really my fault, but I get why she's mad."
"How's that? How can someone be mad at another just for being alive?"
Dylan picked up one of the gems and settled into position to begin his meditation, but his mouth kept moving:
"I did a few shameful things. She didn't like it. Our team got slaughtered. She blames herself for not saving them, and I happen to be, in her eyes, the worst possible survivor… You get it?"
Élisa looked at Dylan with an intensity that made him tense up. Her fingers brushed the gem on her lap, but her mind was clearly still on the words he'd just spoken. The elf tilted her head slightly, her pointed ears twitching.
"Survivors often carry two curses: luck… and guilt," she murmured, her gaze darkening. "But the gems don't judge. They bring strength. So focus, Dylan. Otherwise, your leader might blame herself for your death if you stay weak."
A shiver ran down Dylan's spine. He closed his eyes, clutching the violet stone. Immediately, a dull pressure invaded his skull — muffled laughter, animalistic screams. The essence of the females. Denser, more… personal. He dove in anyway, searching for the golden light.
Unlike Maggie, he didn't repel the black fog. He absorbed it. A survivor's habit: adapt to poison. The visions came, brutal. Human camps in flames, children hunted… and him, ordering the shot. That was his sin. The gem vibrated, heating in his palm.
"No," Élisa growled, sensing his mistake. "Don't feed it with your memories! Control the—"
Too late. A black-golden stream burst from the stone, coiling around his arm like a corrupted serpent. Dylan growled, muscles strained to the breaking point. Something snapped in his neck — a jolt of electric pain. Then… a strange calm. The essence froze, docile.