Rhyka lowered himself to the cold earth just outside the circle of firelight. The night was quiet, the caravan hushed after a day of travel, but the weight in his chest made it feel like a storm was gathering inside him.
He crossed his legs, rested his palms on his knees, and let his breathing slow until each inhale was long and controlled. The golden lattice of Martial Essence lit up inside him, brighter than the stars overhead. He drew it inward, guiding every strand, every thread, forcing it to spiral toward the core of his being his heart.
The fire started immediately.
A searing burn welled up inside his chest, hotter than any fever, sharper than any blade. His heart didn't just beat; it hammered, every thud echoing like a drum strike in his skull. The heat spread along his ribs, crawling into his throat, even trickling into his arms as if the essence wanted to tear its way out.
But he endured.
He had endured worse.
