Sylas had found it—the faintest trace of pure energy. But sensing it was one thing. Drawing it into his body was an entirely different challenge.
For days, he tried to grasp the energy, willing it to move as he had seen his brothers effortlessly do with their elents. Fire users could feel warmth seeping into their skin, wind users could sense the currents shifting around them, but for Sylas, pure energy did nothing. It did not respond, did not pulse or swirl. It was inert, unyielding.
Yet he refused to give up.
Each night, hidden away in the quietest corners of the Aldreth estate, he attempted new thods. He altered his breathing, controlled his posture, even ditated in absolute stillness. At tis, frustration gnawed at his mind, whispering that the world was right—pure energy was a dead end. But Sylas had never been one to accept failure.
One evening, he changed his approach.
Instead of reaching outward to pull the energy in, he imagined himself as a void—a space that needed to be filled. He stopped trying to control the energy and simply allowed it to co to him, accepting its presence without force.
And this ti, sothing happened.
It was minuscule, a re wisp, but he felt the energy trickle into him like a drop of water into parched earth. His breath hitched. The sensation was fleeting, but undeniable. For the first ti, pure energy had entered his body.
Excitent surged through him, only to be quickly replaced by frustration. The energy had disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived. He had no way to retain it.
He sat in the dark, his mind racing. Why was it so difficult? Every recorded thod for energy absorption assud an abundance of elental forces, but pure energy was different. It did not rush toward him like fire or water—it had to be invited.
Sylas experinted again, using patience instead of force. He waited, attuned his senses, and opened himself to the energy’s presence. Hours passed before he felt another trace of it, but this ti, he focused on holding onto it. It slipped through him like sand through fingers, but he adjusted, flexing his will around it, and for the briefest of monts, it lingered.
The effort left him drained, but he had taken a step forward.
The next night, he repeated the process. And the night after that. He began to notice patterns—pure energy was fickle, unpredictable. It did not gather in places of turbulence, nor did it settle like dust in stillness. It moved in the gaps, existing between breaths, between thoughts.
Weeks turned into months, and with ti, Sylas grew better at sensing and drawing it in. He still could not store it, could not use it, but the fact that he could *hold* it for even a second ant he was making progress.
One night, after months of effort, he managed to keep the energy within him for almost a full breath. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. He had no idea what would happen if he forced more in, but he needed to find out.
He repeated the experint, this ti pushing the energy through his limbs. A sharp pain lanced through his veins, like ice flowing through cracks in stone. His body rejected it, his muscles spasming violently before the energy dissipated. Sylas gasped, clutching his chest as he collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
So, it wasn’t just about pulling energy in. He needed to refine it, to make it compatible with his body. His brothers absorbed elental energy because their bodies resonated with it. But pure energy was different—it was formless, without identity. It did not belong anywhere, which ant he had to carve a place for it within himself.
He would have to mold himself into sothing new.
The real struggle had only begun, but for the first ti since his affinity had been discovered, hope burned in his chest.
He would prove them all wrong.
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