Ash stepped into the center of the circle.
The floor beneath his feet was marked with silver lines, etched with ancient glyphs that shimmered faintly. They pulsed once as he entered, syncing momentarily with the quiet thrum of his presence. The air grew still.
Selenthis watched him from the edge, her expression unreadable.
"You may feel strong, Ashteron," she said, her voice calm as glass, "but strength without control is a wildfire in dry grass—bright for a moment, then ash."
She walked slowly around the perimeter of the circle, each step deliberate.
"Your energy is vast. I can feel it radiating even now—untamed, layered, hungry. But power like that, left unchecked, will bleed you from the inside. It will weaken your body, cloud your mind, and fracture your soul."
She stopped behind him.
"This circle is not a barrier—it is a mirror. Within it, your energy will no longer disperse into the world. You will feel it turn inward, pressing against you, demanding shape."
Ash took a breath.
Already, the air felt heavier, as if unseen threads coiled around his limbs.
"First lesson," Selenthis said. "Containment."
She raised a hand, and the glyphs brightened.
"Close your eyes. Breathe in—not with your lungs, but with your core. Feel where your energy pools. Name the places it leaks. Find the storm beneath your skin and do not fear it. Meet it."
Ash closed his eyes.
He reached inward, slowly.
At first, there was nothing—only breath and heartbeat.
Then, a whisper.
A faint shimmer, like black flame behind his ribs. A pulse beneath his collarbone. A flicker at the base of his spine. Different currents, different rhythms. They weren't in harmony—they collided, resisted.
Unshaped.
Unbound.
Selenthis spoke again, softer this time.
"Your body is the first vessel of power. Before weapons. Before war. Before command. Without mastery of self, all else is noise."
Ash furrowed his brow. He drew those flickers inward, tried to center them. But the more he pulled, the more they twisted—one spiking, another sinking, a third crackling wildly near his shoulder.
He gritted his teeth.
Selenthis stepped forward and placed two fingers gently against the nape of his neck.
"Not force. Not fear. Discipline."
Her mana flowed into the circle—cool, firm, precise.
Ash's energy pushed back instinctively—but then wavered. Slowed.
Like a child pausing at the presence of a parent.
"Now," she said. "We begin."
Selenthis moved with silence, her dark robes shifting like mist as she stepped closer to the circle's edge. Her voice came low and deliberate, each word weighed like a blade:
"Containment is not a cage. It is a center. You do not shackle the abyss—you give it gravity."
Ash's breath came slow now, controlled. Sweat trailed down his brow. His muscles still trembled faintly from the earlier surge, but his focus was narrowing.
Selenthis extended her hand, tracing a slow motion in the air—a spiral that tightened toward a central point.
"Anchor yourself. Feel the body's pillars—heart, lungs, gut, spine. Focus on the center behind your navel. That is where the flame roots itself. That is where the abyss learns to listen."
Ash obeyed.
He drew inward—not forcing the energy, but welcoming it. Like drawing curtains around a storm—not to banish the winds, but to define the shape of the house.
And something changed.
The wild flows that had roamed his body—flickering through his limbs and chest—began to slow. To turn. To tilt toward the center of his core. Like eddies in a vast sea drawn to a new gravity.
His breathing steadied.
The trembling eased.
Selenthis watched carefully, her gaze as still as carved obsidian.
"Now compress. Not by force. By will. The energy is not foreign—it is yours. Remind it."
Ash concentrated.
The inner abyss resisted—but only for a moment.
Then, with the weight of his focus pressing inward, it began to fold. Coalesce. Like storm clouds gathering into a single spiral above a distant sea. Bit by bit, the flows curved into themselves—layer upon layer folding toward that center behind his navel, that inner core of stillness.
It wasn't silence he found there.
It was harmony.
A low, steady pulse—a hum like dark flame breathing slowly. His energy, aligned.
Held.
For the first time, Ash could feel it completely—not slipping, not fleeing. Present. Contained.
Selenthis nodded once.
"Good. Now it begins. You have shaped the vessel. Tomorrow, we sharpen the blade."
And just like that… Ash succeeded.
The chaotic storm within him—the spiraling force that once slipped through his grasp like smoke—had stilled. It now sat, quiet and dense, coiled at the center of his being. Not gone, not diminished… but contained.
Ash stood in the middle of the glowing circle, drenched in sweat. His breath came in slow, ragged pulls. Every muscle ached with the weight of discipline. But he did not stumble.
He exhaled, a quiet sigh of relief slipping from his lips.
Across from him, Selenthis lowered her hands. She too bore the strain—her robes clung to her, the fabric damp at the edges. Sweat gleamed on her temples, but her expression remained calm. She had held his core steady through every wild surge, every near-collapse.
For a moment, neither spoke. Only their breathing filled the chamber.
Ash turned his gaze toward the tall windows that framed the training room. Beyond them, the sky had turned dark. The moons hung high, casting pale light across the stone floor.
He blinked.
They had trained past dusk. Past dinner. Past rest.
The night was nearly gone.
The circle beneath him dimmed, its arcane light fading as his energy no longer fought its boundaries.
Selenthis stepped closer, voice low but certain.
"You've done what many can't, Ashteron," she said. "The abyss inside you now listens. That is the first victory."
Ash met her eyes. He gave a quiet nod.
Then, without another word, they turned toward the door, walking side by side through the silence of the palace halls.
There would be more trials ahead. More battles within.
But tonight, Ash had taken control of the storm.
And for now… that was enough.