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[So… you're planning to use Mist of Depravity to cleanse the Sacred Ember Flame of its corruption?]

"Yes," he replied, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room. The dim light of the lantern flickered against the walls, casting dancing shadows across the space.

"I mean, I don't get why you call it a spell. It's clearly an ability. Its source resides in me."

[Umm… yes. The source of Mistborn was turned into an ability and merged with your soul, more accurately, in your hand.]

[Initially, I considered it a spell because it does not consume your energy to activate; instead, it draws on Nature's energy.]

[But, to put it simply, it is an ability.]

"Hmm. Right…" He flexed his fingers, watching the faint, almost imperceptible mist swirl around his palm.

He Realeased the power of the mist insted of outside but inside his own though it might be harmfull to other but to him it is not

"Well It Should Be able to abosrb the curroption"He muttured as he sat down on the floor focusing

He directed the mist inward, feeling it shift and swirl through his veins, cool and fluid like a river winding toward its destination.

The Sacred Ember Flame pulsed faintly in his chest, its warmth comforting yet strained. But the corruption—the dark, slithering force entwined with the flame—sent a cold shiver through his core. He could feel its malevolence, a stark contrast to the sacred energy that kept him alive.

The mist moved closer, and he guided it with precision.

As the first tendrils of mist touched the corruption, there was an immediate reaction. A sharp jolt of pain lanced through him, and he clenched his jaw to stifle a cry.

[The corruption is deeply rooted. It's not going to let go without a fight.]

"Let it fight," he growled under his breath. His focus didn't waver.

The mist began to wrap around the dark tendrils like an ethereal cocoon. It pulsed, absorbing the foreign energy bit by bit. Each fragment of corruption that dissolved sent a burning ache through his chest, but the mist pressed on relentlessly, cleansing as it moved.

The Sacred Ember Flame flared brighter with every strand of corruption removed, its golden hue returning to its former brilliance. The sensation was like pulling barbed wire from his soul—agonizing yet strangely liberating.

[The mist is working, but you're pushing your limits.]

"No," he interrupted, his voice strained. "I'm finishing this."

He poured all his will into the process, his breathing ragged but determined. The mist swirled faster, tearing through the final strands of corruption. The pain reached its peak, a searing blaze that brought him to the edge of consciousness.

And then… silence.

The corruption was gone. The mist dissipated, its work complete, and the Sacred Ember Flame blazed brightly within him, free from its taint. A warmth spread through his body, soothing and revitalizing.

"Well... check if the Mist gained something from absorbing this corrupting power," he said as he slowly stood up and then laid back on the bed. He couldn't help himself; the bed was just too soft and comforting.

[Analysis complete.]

The system's voice echoed again.

[Mist of Depravity has evolved. The absorbed corrupting energy was heavily attuned to decay and rot. As a result, the Mist now possesses an additional property: Aura of Decay.]

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"? Explain"

The system's voice continued, unperturbed by his silence.

[The Aura of Decay amplifies Mist of Depravity's effects. While it previously influenced weak-minded individuals to act on their base instincts, now it also physically deteriorates them. Prolonged exposure causes their bodies to rot—flesh decays, strength wanes, and eventually, they perish.]

He sat up slightly, his brow furrowed. "So, the Mist now has two effects: mental manipulation and physical decay. Is that correct?"

[Precisely. Those caught in its radius who are weaker than you—mentally or physically—will succumb to both. This amplifies your ability to dominate and weaken multiple enemies simultaneously.]

He nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "And the rot… does it linger? Is it contagious?"

[No. The rot manifests only within the Mist's effect radius. Once the target escapes its range, the rotting ceases, but any damage already inflicted remains. It does not spread like a plague; its effects are localized and controlled by you.]

"Good," he muttered. The last thing he needed was an uncontrollable epidemic turning everything into chaos. The ability, though dark, was undeniably powerful. "What about my energy consumption?"

[Negligibly. The Mist still draws from Nature's energy, not your own. However, sustaining the Aura of Decay over extended periods in barren or energy-depleted environments will place a strain on your body.]

He let out a low whistle, impressed.

The next morning,

He was in the training range, the crisp air biting at his skin as he adjusted his stance. The sun was high, casting long shadows across the ground, and the world felt still—almost as if it was holding its breath, waiting.

Elder Veran stood across from him, watching quietly as he gathered his focus. The old man had a habit of observing, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if seeing beyond the surface of things.

"You're looking more confident today," the old man remarked, his voice carrying across the distance.

"Nothing, just feeling like practicing more today..."

"Hmm..." Elder Veran nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Good. Confidence is key."

The old man cleared his throat and stepped forward slightly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Today, I will tell you about the basics of classes."

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Classes?"

"Yes," Elder Veran replied, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "There are mages, though they have a lot of different types. But I call them all mages." The old man waved a dismissive hand. "Then, there are the Occultists, who focus on dark arts, and their polar opposites, the Priests—who are basically just weaklings babbling huge-ass incantations, hoping for some kind of divine intervention. Most of them are nothing but fools2."

He paused, as if considering whether to elaborate, but then shook his head. "There are Alchemists, too. A whole bunch of other types, but we won't waste time on them. Not today."

"Right," he muttered, feeling the weight of Elder Veran's words.

"For now, we will focus on the class of Prana Knights—though some call them Warriors." The old man's tone shifted, becoming more solemn. "This class is rare, and for good reason. It's dangerous, and in some empires, it's even forbidden."

He frowned slightly. "Why forbidden?"

"Because it is very dangerous to practice. Some lose their minds, while others simply die."

"How?"

"Well, when someone decides to become a Prana Knight, the first thing they do is awaken the Prana—the life energy that's dormant, coiled up at the base of the spine, in the triangular sacrum bone. The problem is, most people can't handle the force of it. It overwhelms them, and they either die on the spot or become… well, idiots."

"Well, when someone decides to become a Prana Knight, the first thing they do is awaken the Prana—the life energy that's dormant, coiled up at the base of the spine, in the triangular sacrum bone. The problem is, most people can't handle the force of it. It overwhelms them, and they either die on the spot or become… well, idiots."

"And after awakening, to become stronger, you slowly have to guide that energy upwards, like a serpent moving up from the base of the spine. The process is slow, but it's incredibly powerful. If mastered, it's one of the most powerful classes in the world because this Prana is present in every living being, flowing through all of us. But it's a dangerous path. The energy is not something you can tame easily."

The young man looked at Elder Veran, trying to piece together everything the old man had said. Something didn't sit right with him, though. He had to ask.

"Wait," he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. "Are you a Prana Knight yourself?"

The old man chuckled, his voice low and filled with amusement. "Me? A Prana Knight? Don't make me laugh, boy." shook his head, still smiling. "I may know a thing or two about it, but I've never walked that path. It's too dangerous for someone like me."

He was puzzled. "Then how do you know so much about it?"

The old man's smile faded slightly, his tone turning serious. "I know a lot of things. I'm very old. I found out about this knowledge long ago."

He furrowed his brow. "But why did you tell me about it? Surely you didn't explain it just for the sake of knowledge?"

"Hmm… you're right," the old man said, pausing for a moment. "The reason I told you is because I think you might be able to do it. In ancient times, legends says the God of Angels used this method to awaken her Prana. And the reason she was able to do it was because of her Sacred Ember Flame and its property of preserving life."

The old man's gaze sharpened. "And now, the Sacred Ember Flame is within you, preserving your life. Connect the dots, boy."

[...This is Some Rare Information]