This is not some precautionary myth we tell children by the campfire, Sol. even though incredibly rare, it has happened countless times in our tribe’s history.
Proud, arrogant geniuses who by luck got rapid essence catalysts and relied on them without properly building a foundation... every single one of them suffered total spirit-backlash, dying in screaming agony as their own spirits devoured their souls."
Veylara placed her hand firmly on Sol’s shoulder, her deep blue eyes filled with genuine, protective concern.
"To continue forward, Sol," Veylara said softly. "You must slow down. You must stop trying to force the next door open with brute violence. Go back to the very basics of your essence.
Meditate. Run with your spirit. Train with it, hunt with it and allow your blood and their phantom forms to slowly, naturally weave together until there is no separation between your intent and their power.
Only when that foundation is rock-solid should you consume the Mountain-Marrow Stone and claim Layer 4."
Standing on the elevated stone plateau of the fallen Zharun tribe, the cold mountain wind whipping his dark hair across his face, Sol let out a long, slow breath as if he had an epiphany.
Everything seems to click now.
In that single conversation, the entire underlying mystery of his rapid ascent... and the sudden, impenetrable wall he had hit... became crystal clear.
She’s right, Sol analyzed internally, his sharp, calculating mind dissecting every step of his journey. My speed wasn’t normal. It was entirely unnatural.
He broke down the mechanics of his own existence into two distinct, undeniable truths.
First, his essence absorption was completely off the charts.
His unique sun core possessed an extraordinary, terrifying capacity to process ambient energy without the normal impurities that plagued ordinary tribal warriors.
More importantly, he possessed a lethal shortcut that no other living being in the Great Orrath had: the ability to violently siphon the life-force, vitality, and refined essence straight out of the bodies of his dying enemies.
While warriors like Thauren and Vane had to spend twenty winters hunting beasts, refining their control, and meditating for thousands of hours just to gather enough essence to fill their channels, Sol had simply walked onto the battlefield, slaughtered countless enemies including four Layer 4 warlords, and instantly filled his core to the absolute brim.
He had completely bypassed the grueling, decades-long grind of energy accumulation.
Second, he had his Free Use power.
Free Use was an absolute, reality-bending authority born outside the laws of this world’s spirit system. When he had bound the Great Badger and the Dreadwing, he hadn’t spent months gently nurturing their phantom forms to earn their trust.
He had simply used the overwhelming, despotic domination of his Free Use authority to grab the spirits by their metaphysical throats, forcibly crushing their resistance, bending their instincts to his absolute will, and violently subjugating them into obedience.
That iron-fisted domination had allowed him to bypass all the standard spiritual friction, letting him wield dual spirits and surge straight to Layer 3 Peak in a matter of weeks without suffering a single hiccup.
Forceful domination worked perfectly for the lower layers, Sol realized, his crimson eyes gleaming with deep, profound understanding. When the spirits were weak and semi-dormant, my Free Use power could easily suppress their minor resistance and force them to do my bidding.
But Layer 4 is a completely different realm.
To step into the Fourth Layer, the spirit couldn’t remain a chained, subjugated slave locked in a mental cage. It had to awaken its sentience, and harmonize with his soul.
Because he had relied entirely on violent subjugation and instant essence-theft, his actual spiritual assimilation was sitting at practically zero, well it may not be zero, but it was definitely close.
The Great Badger and the Dreadwing were not yet truly part of him; they were two caged, starving monsters trapped inside his sun core, held down only by the sheer mental vice of his Free Use power.
If he had used the Mountain-Marrow Stone to try forcefully shatter the Layer 4 barrier during the war, the sudden awakening of their sentience as they reached the Layer 4 would have triggered a catastrophic, two-front civil war inside his sun core!
The iron wall he had hit wasn’t a defect in his power. It was his own body’s natural defense mechanism, preventing him from accidentally committing spiritual suicide.
A slow, self-deprecating smirk spread across Sol’s face.
"Looks like shortcuts really do have an expiration date," Sol muttered raspy.
Zephyra looked at him, surprised by the sudden, deep calm that had washed over his aura. "You understand now?"
"I do," Sol replied smoothly, of course he couldn’t tell her all of that, so turning his crimson gaze back toward the High Shaman. "So, due to my abnormal talent, I didn’t had time to make them part of me. If I try to break through now, I’m just handing the hungry beast a bigger set of teeth to bite my head off."
Veylara let out a relieved laugh, patting his shoulder gently. "Good. You have the raw power, Sol, and now you have the catalyst in your pouch. You don’t need to rush anymore.
Take your time to assimilate your spirits. Let the Veynar fight the mundane battles while you build the immovable foundation of a true sovereign."
"Understood, I’ll hold off on the breakthrough, and take my time."
"Spoken like a true warrior," Veylara smiled, her deep blue eyes flashing with golden resolve.
Now that the immediate urge to violently force a breakthrough had been dismantled by Zephyra’s warning, a profound, unshakeable calm settled over his mind.
Kira and Zeyra walked up to his side. Kira adjusted the strap of her hunting bow across her shoulder, looking up at Sol with a soft, inquiring gaze.
"You look different, Sol," Kira murmured, stepping close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. "Calmer. Like a heavy weight was lifted from your chest."
Sol glanced down at her, the neon-crimson glow of his eyes dimming into a warm, grounded ember. He reached out, lightly tapping the side of his own head. "Just figured out that sometimes you need to walk before you try to jump over a mountain."
Zeyra let out a dry huff, crossing her arms as a faint, amused smirk tugged at her lips. "Look at you, sounding like an old elder. Don’t tell me you’re getting soft just because you found a fancy rock."
"Soft?" Sol husked, giving her a grin. "Try me on the sparring field and see if my fist feels soft."
Zeyra’s smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with fierce, competitive light. "I just might take you up on that."
...
Even with the Zharun crushed and the immediate questions about Layer 4 answered by Zephyra and Veylara, there was still one matter left unsettled.
A memory had nagged at him ever since the bloody interrogation in the battlefield... the frantic, desperate confession of the broken Zharun prince, Gorr.
Back then, with his blade pressed against the prince’s throat, Gorr had sworn on his life that a massive beast tide led by a colossal horned beast had descended upon their settlement, and that a lavender-skinned alien girl with purple hair and obsidian horns... Elyndra... had taken Lumi away into a flash of purple light.
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