Sylas had learned patience. Pure energy was unlike any other—it was scarce, elusive, and defied conventional methods of absorption. But after months of careful experimentation, he had begun to understand it.
He sat cross-legged in his secret training spot, an abandoned storeroom within the estate. Dust hung thick in the air, illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight slipping through cracks in the wooden walls. He controlled his breathing, slowing his heart rate until even his thoughts seemed to drift into silence.
The energy was there. Always there. A faint shimmer in the void of his perception. It did not pulse like fire, did not swirl like wind, nor surge like water—it simply existed. Unmoving. Passive.
Tonight, he would try something different.
Instead of merely allowing the energy to drift toward him, he would attempt to guide it.
He focused, not with brute force, but with intent. He imagined the energy sinking into him, threading into his flesh, integrating with his very being. And then—
A flicker.
The sensation was faint but distinct. Unlike elemental energies that carried their own properties—fire’s heat, wind’s sharpness—pure energy had no defining traits. It was neither hot nor cold, neither sharp nor soft. It simply was.
Encouraged, he maintained his focus. More wisps of energy trickled toward him. They were delicate, weightless threads weaving into his being. His body tensed as he attempted to hold onto them, but the moment he lost concentration, they dispersed like mist under the morning sun.
Not enough.
He exhaled, frustration gnawing at his mind.
There must be a way to keep it from slipping away.
Days turned into weeks, and Sylas refined his control. He learned not to grip the energy too tightly, nor to let it drift away too easily. It was a delicate balance, a dance between effort and surrender. And slowly, ever so slowly, he improved.
He observed his brothers during their training sessions, watching how they channeled their respective energies with ease. His eldest brother summoned flames at will, another shaped the wind with a flick of his wrist, yet Sylas remained an anomaly. His affinity for pure energy was viewed as a dead end, and he dared not reveal his secret training.
The isolation was suffocating, but he welcomed it. Every failure only strengthened his resolve. He refused to be powerless.
One night, as he meditated in absolute stillness, something changed.
For the first time, he felt the energy linger within him. It remained—not fleeting, not momentary, but sustained. It coursed faintly through his limbs, a steady hum beneath his skin. A shiver ran down his spine. He had done it.
His first true breakthrough.
The realization sent a thrill through him, but he forced himself to remain calm. How long can I hold it?
Seconds passed. The energy fluctuated, threatening to slip away. He adjusted his breathing, focusing on the same delicate balance he had discovered. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. But at twenty, the energy finally dissipated, leaving behind an exhaustion that weighed heavily on his small body.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, but a triumphant smile crept onto his lips. He had done more than just absorb it—he had kept it.
But that wasn’t all.
Sylas steadied his breath, closed his eyes, and repeated the process. This time, he didn’t just hold the energy—he willed it to move. He imagined it flowing through his fingers, pushing it forward as he had seen his brothers do with their elements.
At first, it resisted.
Then, with a subtle shift in his mental approach, it obeyed.
His fingertips tingled, a faint glow dancing across them before vanishing.
Sylas’s breath hitched. He had moved it.
The implications sent his mind racing. His first true control over pure energy. A concept deemed impossible by the world, yet he had just done it.
But this was only the beginning. If he could hold the energy and move it, then the next challenge awaited—learning to circulate it.
That would take weeks, maybe even months.
But Sylas had all the time in the world.