Avaln learnt many things during his stay in Gale.

That was the truth.

His spear, his knapsack, his tome of Monster Smithing, all of them were precious possessions he earnt through the bonds he forged with others, yet were his nonetheless. His actions were the direct cause of them arriving in his hands.

Yet nothing, nothing was comparable to what he learnt inside his soul.

At first, he was worried. He knew he had to access his Tower of Babylon in order to check the condition of the soul puppet, but he was completely ignorant of the state in which he’d find it. Maybe, he’d open his eyes to see it had gone back to normal. Maybe, he’d open them to see a shadowy spear about to stab his head.

But much to his relief, what he found was neither.

As soon as he felt that subtle change between the material world and his soul, his gaze instantly caught her figure, as if trained to do so, sitting in the middle of the soul puppet’s ring, on top of a white rock with a shadowy, thin spear resting on her shoulder. Her gaze didn’t meet him, yet Avaln knew she was aware of his presence the same way the prey knows the tiger has caught their scent.

His previous decision had been to believe that puppet wasn’t Sgithe.

But the more he observed her, the more he doubted.

“Is it you?” He asked, yet found no response, no reaction.

Not until he crossed the ring’s line. Killer intent flared from her position, her silhouette blurred into an attack he had no time to dodge, instinctively summoning the image of a spear in his hand, deflecting sideways the thrust aimed at his heart. However, her momentum was far from finished, and the deflected lunge quickly became a swipe at his neck height, then another as she spun on her heels, then she bent and plunged the spear on the imaginary ground, using it as a pole to send a kick to his chest.

He side-stepped, he panicked, then fell on his butt. The last thing he saw was her blade piercing his heart.

It could be said it was only then that his real training began.

He had no answers to that mystery, yet far from feeling deterred, a surging excitement took control and urged him to enter his soul again, consequences be damned. He wasn’t about to look a gifted horse in the mouth.

Albeit in this case, he had to admit the gift was far more attractive than a horse.

And so, Avaln’s days became a myriad of activities which nurtured his character and knowledge. In the mornings, he’d study artefact crafting under Jeff; in the afternoons, his comprehension of Runecasting would improve by placing traps and experimenting with different adjustments and combinations; in the evenings, he’d train his Dún Scáith spearmanship, and during the nights, while his body rested, his soul would become a battlefield.

It really helped to discover Sgithe’s puppet would stop chasing him if he stepped out of the ring.

However, despite sparring with her for an entire month, he had yet to land a hit.

Even so…

Even so, he earned something incredibly rich. Experience.

And with it, he lost something too.

The training was hellish, and he had long stopped counting how many times he died inside his soul, the scene of her figure effortlessly piercing his heart now engraved in his mind.

He died.

And died.

And died.

Many times, in many ways, after one or a hundred moves, and all of them by her hand, under a murderous intent that could chill the blood solid inside one’s veins. Yet necessity made him comprehend something about her technique. The Dún Scáith spearmanship wasn’t about a series of moves to be chained together. It was about versatile moves you could use with a spear, against any weapon, on any occasion.

And as Avaln checked when a shadowy sword plunged itself carved a path into his chest, they could also be used with a weapon that wasn’t a spear. It felt like the discipline was designed to aid the user fight even if they lacked their preferred weapon.

So as his techniques improved, something got stripped away.

He lost his hesitation.

That’s why, as he laid on the ground, bleeding, wounded by that man who was now on his way to Gale, followed by his lackeys, Avaln came back from the depths of that comfortable darkness, forcing his arm to move with the force of will he’d been ten years honing, every night, as he struggled against that book.

He had one option, and went for it. His fingers drew a symbol by his side, as deftly as he could from his poor posture and lack of strength, controlling his Essence…

And pouring a drop of lifeforce into the regenerate rune.

Once complete, and with a cavernous scream, his opposite arm hit the ground and forced his body to fall on the rune, activating it. He needed to close the wound, everything else could wait.

Avaln stared at the sky, seeing spots of black and red, the thin rays of the barely awake sun now too bright; his consciousness, blank. But he could feel it too, that slow creeping relief of his muscles being mended, his skin being sealed. As he expected, pouring a bit of lifeforce on the regenerate rune had been the right move, and despite not being able to tell the time he spent lying there, he felt that the effect had been, at least, four times faster than before.

Soon after that, he felt well enough to stand up, the skin on his back tense, yet even if he appeared to have recovered, the pain coming from that wound betrayed that notion, and he knew the cause.

The demonic Essence, corroding his grey at a subtle yet definite pace, and also…

He had just used his lifeforce. It had been a drop, the tiniest bit from the well circulating through his body, yet enough for him to grow weary and weak. The sensation was not unlike that of blood loss.

Yet despite that weakness cursing through his body, Avaln managed to close his hand into a fist. His mind went through the recent memories he made in Gale, and quickly realized there was but one course of action that gave him a fighting chance.

The truth was… that sneak attack had been something he was currently unable to react to. Through his seventh sense, and with the aid of looking at it retrospectively, that man’s refinement level must have been in the Tempered Essence second stage. A great realm was already a huge gap to overcome, let alone a minor realm on top of that.

Yet…

Yet there, in the middle of the deserted road he’d been left for dead, Avaln understood what he needed to do.

Through his means, there was only one way to recover his lifeforce and get rid of the foreign demonic Essence infecting his body. Hence, he forced his muscles to move into the forest as he released his seventh sense to make a quick swipe of the area, nodding to himself when the only presence he caught was that of small animals.

Yet he couldn’t help grimacing when he caught sight of his knapsack. It had been cut in two, and the tome inside met the same fate. He wondered how deep the wound on his back would have been if they hadn’t been in the way.

Next, once he chose a place, he left his demon boar spear behind, afraid of what could happen to its attribute if he were to bring the weapon with him.

Avaln decided to refine the world’s Essence, and attempt a breakthrough to the Tempered Essence realm.

And so, he steeled his stride, and held himself from the nearby trunks until he reached a small clearing in the middle of the forest. However, he didn’t sit just yet, but drew a symbol in the air instead, right above him, tracing Essence to give form to another regenerate rune.

He blinked, he steadied himself, losing focus, losing balance, feeling that lack of lifeforce weighing down his body, inviting him to take a long nap beneath the shade, surrounded by the soft morning breeze. So, he bit his lip, using the sharp pain to jolt himself awake, and finished the rune, not before infusing it with another drop of his lifeforce, knowing the huge bet he was making.

His legs failed him then, yet he allowed the consequent fall, crossing them once he hit the ground. The arrow had been released, and all he could do now was to hope it struck true.

The demonic Essence would eventually kill him anyway.

And so, he adjusted his breathing, and through his seventh sense, he touched that clover-like shaped circulation that was so special, existing in a plane beyond his body, and that gave him that advantage he couldn’t quite explain.

All he knew was that such circulation had reached the second ascension phase.

So, he spurred its current, gently at first, knowing some actions couldn’t be rushed, fighting the impatience and his own body’s weakness as its stream grew mightier.

Soon, Avaln lost track of time.

And an eternity or a breath later, he began to feel the world’s Essence circling around him, as if curious of the being calling to it. It circled and slowly got closer, almost as if trying to provoke Avaln’s impatience, yet all it obtained from him was the stoicism of a rock.

Unmovable, unconcerned.

In his mind, the young man had already accepted his fate, whatever it might be.

A part of him realized, in that limbo of existence that is one’s consciousness when nothing but one’s goal remains, that sometimes there is no hope of earning something if one is not ready to let go.

To expect the best, yet prepare for the worst.

As if discerning that nebulous epiphany, that ancient grey Essence began to flow inside his body with the calm of the rain and the force of the waterfall, transcending his flesh to reach that clover-like Essence circulation, like when the river meets the sea. Such was the imagery that ran through Avaln’s hazy consciousness, finding a fragile, ephemeral sort of truth in it.

But soon, that stream began to swell and sway, to rush and strike, growing fierce and violent. Avaln spat a mouthful of blood when something bit his guts briefly, yet his focus was not perturbed. If something could be said to be his strength and his alone, it would be his ability for self-absorption, a skill he’d been practising since the blue book arrived in his hands. And so, no ripple was created in that lake-like state his mind reached, not when a cut appeared on his shoulder, not when the recently formed skin on his back was torn, nor when a chunk of his cheek was simply ripped off by the currents now mercilessly entering his body.

Yet no wound lasted long, for above him, the regenerate rune shone under his seventh sense and began to heal any sudden injuries, proving his guess was right. After using his lifeforce, he quickly surmised his body wouldn’t be able to handle the refinement process, for during the first time, he was actively attacked by the world’s Essence, as if testing him. Inferring the same would happen this time, he preemptively drew a regenerate rune to help his weakened body withstand the procedure.

However…

Under the shrieking pain numbing his senses, provoked by the constant fight between injury and recovery, he became aware of how much he underestimated it.

That caused a small ripple to wave and expand inside his lake-like state of mind, yet he didn’t fight it, nor tried to remain indifferent to it. He just accepted it, knowing his youth and naivety was inevitable.

The feeling of growth when we are inexperienced can motivate us to keep improving ourselves. Value it. No one can learn something twice. Sgithe’s teachings, one of many she left him during that brief yet indefinite breath inside his soul. But don’t depend on it. Sooner or later, our pace slows down. Only those who learn for the sake of knowledge, rather than self-contentment, will never stop moving forward.

The cycle continued, outside of what Avaln could perceive as time, tearing and reforging his muscles and bones and sinew, while he held onto his consciousness with iron grip as more and more ripples threatened to break his state of mind.

Above all else, there is one truth you need to remember. She had lifted a finger then, yet he couldn’t but think how it denied him a direct encounter with her scarlet gaze. Essence is always fair. You will never encounter risks without gains, pain without reward. And fate… fate doesn’t decide, it just binds. Ultimately, your view of things is what matters.

Acceptance doesn’t mean to surrender.

To be confident doesn’t mean to be prideful.

To encounter the vicissitudes of life could be seen as being unlucky, or be seen as an opportunity to polish oneself.

Avaln found fortitude in such teachings, allowing them to become part of who he was.

And so, he endured.

And endured.

And endured.

The regenerate rune flickered under the surveillance of his seventh sense, yet such hints of weakness didn’t deter him nor perturbed him.

Despite the difficulties, the pain, the uncertainty…

This was but one step.

As soon as he thought so, the stream flowing into his body suddenly stopped, forcing his seventh sense to swirl in search of the reason…

And when he found it, surprise dug a path into his calm state of mind, almost breaking it from the sheer strength of that impression. There, circling around him, the world’s Essence took the shape of a serpent, tall enough to tower the trees, wide enough to swallow him whole without the slight bulge. It surrounded him once, twice, ancient and mighty, inviting Avaln to wonder what could separate such a being from the dragons of legends.

That thought, in a way, prepared him. It was an idea, a brief distraction that created a layer of protection, unconsciously, against the shock that tried to disturb his focus when the serpent spoke:

“Interesting.” Its jaws didn’t move, nor was its language something Avaln could understand, yet its guttural voice, coarse and impossible to reproduce by a human’s vocal cords, vibrated inside his chest and brought the meaning of its words all the way into his mind. “There is still someone in this leaf, who remembers the true path.”