The academy halls were quieter that evening.

Classes had ended, students had scattered, and the sun had dipped low enough to cast golden streaks across the courtyard windows. Spirit lanterns hummed faintly to life, their glow not bright, but calming.

Aston walked alone down the side path between the eastern study wing and the meditation terrace. Gray followed, curled lightly around his shoulders like a scarf, silent save for the occasional flick of his tail. Mirage flew quietly alongside them.

Aston didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

There was a weight inside him—a gathering pressure that had only grown since that morning in Professor Veris's class. He had watched Ien break through, felt the shift in the room, and had sensed something stir in himself. A pressure beneath the skin. Beneath the core.

Not pain. Not urgency.

But density. Depth.

He made his way into the private cultivation chamber at the far end of the terrace—an arched dome built from polished stone, rarely occupied at this hour. A single spirit brazier glowed in the center, fed by thin lines of essence-etched runes.

Aston sat down in front of it, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.

Gray and Mirage settled behind him, their bodies going still.

Silence followed.

Then breath.

Slow. Steady. Rooted.

He reached inward—not with effort, but with trust. He knew where his core was now. Not just its physical place, but its presence. A silver flicker in a sea of black. Small, steady, spinning like the eye of a storm.

He watched it—not with sight, but with spirit.

And it pulsed.

The warmth from earlier was back. Only now, it was fuller. No longer coiling, but pressing gently against the walls of his will. Spirit energy flowed toward it, drawn in from the air around him, from the stones, the runes, the silence.

He didn't guide it.

It came on its own.

His breathing slowed further, syncing unconsciously to the rhythm of the core.

One… Two… Three… Four…

It resisted nothing.

Then—he felt it.

The saturation.

Not a flood. Not a burn.

But a moment of stillness so complete, it felt like everything had stopped.

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The threads of essence didn't flow into him anymore.

They paused outside him—waiting.

He could feel every detail. The tickle of heat at the tips of his fingers. The tightness in his chest that wasn't tension, but anticipation. The base of his skull ached faintly. His stomach felt... light. Like something in him had already risen, but his body hadn't caught up.

He remembered what Professor Veris had said:

"Your core will begin to fill—not just collect energy, but resist further intake. The spirit threads around you will feel denser, heavier, as if pulled toward you without effort."

Aston opened his inner perception wider.

And the pressure surged.

Suddenly, his core began to spin faster—too fast.

The spiral wobbled, threads straining against it, trying to burst through. His breath hitched. He felt a spike of heat in his ribs. For a second, his heartbeat staggered.

Pain lanced down his spine.

But Aston did not recoil.

He breathed through it. Focused. Anchored.

"Not strength," he whispered aloud. "Steady flame."

He recalled Professor Veris's words again:

"Core strength is not the loudest explosion. It is the consistency of a steady flame."

He let the pain come.

Let the resistance rise.

Then let go of control.

And the core cracked.

Not shattered—but shifted. Split open from within like a blooming flower. The spiral inside twisted once, twice—

Then spun faster.

But evenly. Smoothly. With depth.

A new gravity settled around it. The chamber pulsed once with energy—then fell still.

Aston gasped softly, eyes snapping open.

His body trembled.

Not violently—but with clarity. Like the tension he'd been holding since arriving at Dawn Crest had finally exhaled.

Gray lifted his head, blue eyes glowing faintly. He didn't speak—but his tail tapped once behind Aston, as if in recognition. Mirage maintained her silent demeanor, as if knowing that her master's strength just elevated.

The room felt different.

The world felt different.

Aston could see the threads of spirit energy more clearly now. Not just as drifting strands—but as structured flows. Patterns. Currents. He could feel his body aligning with them—adapting to their rhythm.

This was it.

Elite Spirit Professional.

He hadn't needed elixirs.

No bursts of force. No borrowed power.

Just patience.

Stillness.

And pressure applied in the right place, for long enough, to shape something permanent.

He remained seated for several more minutes, letting the changes settle. The core continued spinning inside him—but now, each rotation brought a soft echo, as if the world was finally responding in kind.

By the time he stood, the glow from the brazier had faded.

But something within him now burned brighter.

—

Back in his dorm, the windows were dark.

Ren wasn't there.

Gray padded to the bed and curled in a tight circle, satisfied. Mirage went to her usual place—the chair by Aston's desk.

Aston didn't feel the need to write about it. Or tell the others.

They'd find out soon enough—when his core glow intensified during practice, when his bonds to Gray and Mirage became stronger, when his presence shifted just slightly in every room he entered.

But for now… it was enough to know.

He had crossed the first wall.

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