Waylon stood in the center of the dim cavern, beads of sweat trailing down his neck, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of exertion. He'd just finished another round of drills—careful movements, precision swings, stance corrections—all performed under the watchful eye of his newly heightened senses. Every adjustment, every motion felt more natural than the last, and though exhaustion nipped at the edge of his awareness, he pushed through with a strange sort of satisfaction.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he let out a long exhale and made his way toward the edge of the pool. The water shimmered faintly in the glow of nearby bioluminescent moss, reflecting a distorted version of his face—eyes glowing faint gold, expression calm but focused. As he knelt beside the pool, he dipped his hands in and drew the cool liquid to his lips, eager to soothe the dryness in his throat.
He swallowed, anticipating the familiar gentle warmth that had settled in his stomach after each drink since his transformation. But this time, the sensation was different. The water didn't settle in his gut—it was pulled immediately upward, drawn into his chest, as if his heart had opened to receive it.
Waylon's eyes widened in surprise. "What the…?"
He placed a hand against his chest, just over his heart. The warmth was there—gentle, pulsing, like embers fanned by a breeze—but the stomach remained cool and unaffected. Curious, he took another drink, larger this time, letting the liquid flow freely down his throat. Again, the energy was pulled upward, bypassing the rest of his body entirely, and absorbed directly into his chest.
"I'm… I'm not feeling it anywhere else anymore," he whispered to himself, voice low with wonder. "It's all going to the same place."
He paused, then drank again, and again, watching—feeling—as the water's energy was channeled with pinpoint accuracy. There was no longer that painful flare of heat, no fear of his body rebelling against the dense mana of this world. Just a quiet, steady draw, each drop being claimed by whatever strange transformation had taken root in his chest.
Waylon grinned, elation bubbling up within him. "I'm not going to explode!" he laughed, half-giddy, half-incredulous. He dipped his hands into the pool again and drank deeply, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of the cool, life-giving water.
It was exhilarating—freeing—to not be bound by fear of collapse or agony. He drank until his thirst was fully quenched, and then a little more, just to savor the sensation. The water, thick with energy, vanished seamlessly into his chest, into that strange core of warmth where his heart had become something more.
He rested on his heels, closing his eyes, feeling the pulse of energy gather deep in his chest like a coiled spring. He had no name for it, no explanation for what had changed within him—but it was undeniable. Something had shifted, not just in his body, but in the very way he interacted with the world.
Then it happened.
Just as the last mouthful settled into his system, a soft pulse radiated outward from his heart—gentle, almost imperceptible, like the beat of a distant drum. It rippled through his limbs, his bones, his skin, and finally out into the air around him. A strange stillness followed.
And with that pulse, the energy that had lingered faintly in his stomach vanished. It didn't disperse—it was simply gone, as though it had never been there at all. His heart no longer pulled at the water. The need, the hunger for energy, had been… fulfilled.
Waylon blinked, confused. "What the hell…?"
He took another small sip, cautiously waiting for the warmth to return—but there was nothing. The water, though refreshing, offered no further energy. His heart, so eager before, now remained still. Content.
He took another sip. Nothing again. No absorption. No warmth. Just water.
Waylon sat back, thinking hard, his brow furrowing in thought. [So… it's full? No, not full… satisfied?] That soft pulse—it was like a closing door. The system, whatever it was, had shut itself off. His heart had taken all it needed.
The thought was unsettling and fascinating in equal measure. He didn't understand it, not fully. But it made a certain sense. Whatever process was happening inside of him, it had structure. Rules. Limits.
And right now, it had reached one.
He pressed his fingers gently against his chest, feeling his heartbeat still steady beneath his skin. The warmth remained, but it no longer grew. No longer drew from the world around him. He was stable—balanced.
His lips curled into a small smile. "Well… that's good, right?"
He stood slowly, testing the feeling of his limbs again. Nothing hurt. His body felt strong, well-fed, hydrated, whole. The tightness in his muscles from earlier exertion was easing, and despite his lingering hunger for food, he felt far more prepared to face whatever came next.
Waylon looked around the cavern, eyes sweeping across the walls, up toward the shadowed ceiling, and down the darkened tunnels that led deeper into the unknown. There was so much he still didn't understand—but each new experience was giving him a clearer picture of this world and himself within it.
Waylon walked toward one of the unexplored tunnels, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, casting reflections off the wet stone. He placed a hand against the wall, steadying himself, and took a deep breath.
"I've got work to do," he whispered. "Time to see just how far I can go."