Some of the others had received booklets like Nemo's and were working slowly through their movements. Holt and Giada had one each, though neither of their Aspects had been called aloud. That was comforting in a way. It meant they were still progressing at the same rate. Nemo didn't want to outpace them or be left behind. For now, they were equals.
Once he had recovered from his earlier exhaustion, he returned to the postures in his booklet. This time, his movements carried more confidence. With each transition, he could feel his essence circulating more smoothly. His breath aligned with his movements, his focus sharpened, and for a fleeting moment, he felt something click.
He trained without distraction until the class ended. But no one left—the next course, _Basic Aspect Utilization_, was also taught by Arbil and scheduled to begin immediately. More people arrived, well-rested and freshly fed, forming a clear contrast to the exhausted group who had just completed the martial arts training. Thankfully, the class was held outdoors. Otherwise, the heat and sweat might've been unbearable.
Arbil waited for the class to settle before he spoke again.
"Welcome to Basic Aspect Utilization. Some of you just finished the martial arts session. I encourage all of you to attend that class as well. It's easier to utilize your Aspect when your essence is already flowing."
He let his gaze sweep the group before continuing.
"Think of essence as a muscle. If you don't warm it up before using it, you risk strain. Improper use can damage your internal essence pathways. Martial arts are one of the safest ways to activate and circulate your essence—and they benefit the body, too."
Though his tone remained calm, Nemo understood that Arbil wasn't warning them as a threat but offering real guidance. He wouldn't scold anyone for missing a class. But he believed in what he taught—and that made all the difference.
"Every aspect is different, yet all share a common core—they are expressions of essence. To use your Aspect, you must learn to control your essence. You've already done this, at least partially, to access your unconscious mind. Please do so now."
Nemo closed his eyes and reached inward. His essence responded, sluggish at first, but then flowed up toward his eyes. His vision shifted. His inner space came alive. Once again, he saw the familiar runes suspended like glowing constellations, their light reminiscent of northern skies. The patterns were just as he remembered—delicate, strange, and profound.
Arbil waited, watching the subtle changes in their expressions. He nodded to himself when he noticed understanding settle on their faces.
"Now dismiss them. Your first assignment is to practice this until it becomes second nature. One day, you'll summon your inner sight as instinctively as blinking."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"Now for the main task. Within your inner space lies your root. Just as you called forth your unconscious mind, now reach toward your root. Guide your essence to connect with it. The sensation that follows will vary greatly—it's deeply personal. This is why being attuned to your body matters. Martial arts, again, play a key role."
Nemo did as instructed. His essence resisted slightly—still unfamiliar with complete obedience—but it moved. As he nudged it toward that inner world, Arbil continued to lecture, his voice steady.
"Essence is the energy that suffused our world after the Cataclysm. It exists in all things—living and non-living. Beasts can wield it instinctively. We, as humans, cannot match their raw power. But we possess something else—conscious control. That alone may be enough to return us to parity with nature's might."
Nemo pressed further. He focused, channeling more and more essence into his inner space. And then—contact.
His essence met his metal root.
The sensation was strange, subtle. His essence didn't fight him, but it changed. It began to curl and twist, like flowing mercury. Not hostile—just different. It adopted the behavior of metal: weighty, rigid, and purposeful. Carefully, he pulled the transformed essence back into his body. It surged toward his hands.
He tried to slow it, but the momentum was overwhelming. His right palm lit with pressure, and with a sharp pulse, something shot out.
A chain.
It extended from his hand, a meter-long silver strand made entirely of essence-forged metal. When the energy fueling it ran dry, the chain stopped growing—but it didn't vanish.
It hung from his hand, swaying gently. He raised his arm and inspected it. The first link had fused directly into his palm. The sensation wasn't painful. It felt… right.
He gave it a tentative swing. The chain moved like any normal chain, clattering against the ground with a sharp metallic sound. Around him, people turned to look. Others had activated their Aspects, but none had maintained a physical manifestation like his.
Arbil appeared beside him, eyes glinting with interest.
"Well done, student Nemo. You've summoned the basic form of your Aspect. This is only the start. With mastery, you'll be able to alter its shape—make it thinner, spiked, or serrated."
Before Arbil could say more, Nemo's knees buckled. He severed the connection to his root, and the chain dissolved. His limbs trembled. The feeling was familiar—like hunger, but deeper, more draining. He forced himself to stand again, chest heaving.
Arbil gave him a small nod, then turned as the air dropped in temperature.
Giada had activated her Aspect.
A gust of freezing wind blew around her, and snow began to fall. In her hand was a flawless icicle, held like a dagger. But before anyone could marvel at it, a pulse of heat erupted beside her.
Holt.
His eyes were closed, and the space around him shimmered like a summer haze. The snow melted instantly. Sweat formed on the brows of nearby students.
Their clash was instinctual. Giada's cold surged. Holt's warmth pressed back. The atmosphere began to heat up—not just from power, but from tension.
Before it escalated further, Nemo stepped between them and muttered, "I'm starving. Let's eat."
He turned and left, not bothering to see if they followed. But he didn't need to—both caught up with him moments later.
"Awakening is amazing," Holt said, still flushed. "I felt like I could roast a chicken just by standing near it."
He regretted the words immediately as Nemo gave him a sharp, hungry look.
"Chicken, huh? Let's test that next time," Nemo grinned. "What did it feel like for you?"
"Hot," Holt replied. "But not in a bad way. Like it belonged to me."
Nemo turned to Giada. "And you?"
She gave a small shrug. "Cold, but comfortable. Like I've always been that way."
Nemo nodded. "Sounds like you found your perfect rival."
Holt laughed and nodded back. The three sat down at the mess hall. While they ate, something curious happened. Nemo, normally quiet and contemplative, wouldn't stop asking questions. It was as though awakening had stirred something else—his second fault.
Holt and Giada exchanged glances. They weren't used to this version of Nemo. Until now, he had always been introspective, silent. But now, his words tumbled out freely.
"Want to try awakening the others? We've got half an hour before our next class."
They agreed and returned to the beach—the same spot they surfaced from after their morning swims.
Nemo went first. He focused on his formless root. He wasn't ready for the devouring one, not yet. He sent his essence inward. When it returned, it seemed directionless, unable to settle.
Silver-white mist poured from his skin. It enveloped the trio in a drifting cloud, floating weightlessly before a breeze caught it and carried it away. As it drifted, the mist morphed—shapes appearing and collapsing in rapid succession, forming no stable pattern.
"I guess a formless root really is… formless," Holt said. "Alright, my turn."
He closed his eyes.
Nemo and Giada waited. The breeze tugged gently at their clothes, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed. It was a smell Nemo had known all his life—though out on the ocean, it had always seemed cleaner, sharper.
Then, a soft melody rose. Not music, exactly—more like a memory of music, fragmented and emotional. A patchwork of smells followed. Not coherent, but rich with nostalgia.
Nemo turned to Holt.
Something was beginning to form in his hand.