Pain hit him like thunder.
One second he was steady.
The next, his body folded under a wave of heat and pressure—like his blood had caught fire.
"Breathe!" Mira barked, gripping his shoulders.
Elior tried. Failed. Tried again.
His back arched.
The mark on his palm burst into light, spiraling upward, and then—
Everything stopped.
He floated.
Weightless. Rootless.
Drifting inside a space that wasn't quite real—shaped like a ring of smoke, turning around a single glowing point.
A voice—not Mira's—spoke in his mind.
"The Second Circle is Will."
"To shape the world, first you must survive it."
He crashed back into his body with a violent snap.
Gasped. Fell to the floor. Shaking.
Not cold—overheated. His skin was steaming. His heartbeat chaotic, pulsing too fast, too strong.
Mira's expression changed from guide to medic.
She poured cold water over him, forced herbs under his tongue, held his forehead while he trembled.
"It's okay," she murmured. "It always feels like dying.
That means it's working."
When he finally calmed, his vision had changed again.
Not just light.
Motion.
He could see lines before they moved—intentions, ripples in space.
Mira tossed a coin. He saw its arc before it left her fingers.
She reached for her blade. He knew the exact moment her thought formed.
"Second Ring sight," she confirmed. "Your will touches probability now. Barely. But it's there."
He blinked.
"What else can it do?"
Her face darkened.
"If you lose control, it bends the world. Breaks things. People. Yourself."
As if on cue, a phone buzzed.
Mira checked it. Froze.
Then: "Get your jacket."
"Why?"
"Someone else just awakened. But theirs didn't stop at the First Ring."
She met his eyes.
"And they're not surviving it."