Blake held the plane of force steady in front of him, gritting his teeth against the mounting pressure in his skull. Sweat trickled down his temples despite the cool morning air. His mana channels burned, but not with the raw agony of overexertion—more like the deep ache of muscles being pushed to their limits.

"Good," Eland's voice carried across the clearing. "Now rotate it forty-five degrees and maintain the same density."

Blake exhaled slowly, picturing the invisible barrier as a physical thing—a sheet of bulletproof glass suspended in space. He could feel the forces acting on it, the way it wanted to disperse and fade. With careful precision, he tilted the construct, keeping the edges aligned while adjusting the angle.

A flash of golden light shot through the air, splashing harmlessly against his barrier. Blake's concentration wavered for a split second, the force plane rippling like disturbed water, but he managed to stabilize it before it collapsed entirely.

"Better," Eland said, lowering his massive hand. "You're learning to compensate for directional shifts. But you're still overthinking it." The Stokrine's cetacean features shifted into an amused expression. "Most telekinetic abilities aren't about brute strength or complex calculations. They're about—"

"Intent and resonance," Blake finished, letting the barrier dissolve. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension. "Yeah, you mentioned that. About fifty times now."

"And I'll mention it fifty more if that's what it takes." Eland gestured, and a small piece of debris lifted from the ground, floating effortlessly between them. "Watch closely."

The metal fragment began to spin, faster and faster until it was little more than a blur. Then, without warning, it shot forward like a bullet. Blake's hand came up instinctively, throwing out a burst of force that knocked the projectile off course. It crashed into a pile of scrap with a satisfying clang.

"See?" Eland's expression brightened. "That was perfect. No hesitation, no overthinking. You felt the threat and responded naturally."

Blake frowned, replaying the sequence in his mind. "That was different, though. Reactive instead of maintained. Creating a sustained barrier takes more focus."

"Does it?" Eland raised one massive hand, and suddenly the air around them filled with floating debris—hundreds of pieces ranging from tiny screws to chunks of metal the size of Blake's fist. "Or is that just what you believe?"

The debris began to move in complex patterns, weaving around each other like schools of fish. Blake watched, noting how Eland's movements remained relaxed, almost casual. There was no strain in his expression, no tension in his stance.

"You're not fighting against gravity," Eland explained, directing the metal fragments into intricate spirals. "You're not calculating trajectories or measuring forces. You're simply extending your will into the space around you."

As if to demonstrate, he gestured again. The debris froze in place, then arranged itself into a perfect sphere around them. Blake could feel the latent energy humming in the air, the subtle vibrations of so many objects held in perfect suspension.

"The System provides a framework," Eland continued, "but the actual manipulation comes from something deeper. Something more..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Instinctual. You have to remember that all of this was possible for people before the concepts of Skills and Abilities ever formally entered Demiurge."

Blake rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the ache building behind his eyes. "Magical bullshit," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. The words carried just loud enough for Eland to hear.

The Stokrine let out a low chuckle, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement. "You're not entirely wrong," Eland admitted, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile. "But that's the reality you need to accept."

Blake crossed his arms, glaring at the floating debris still hanging in the air around them. "The reality is that none of this makes sense. You want me to just accept that I can throw around invisible walls or bend space because I... what? Want it bad enough? At least I can work with the idea that the System is allowing me to borrow power to do things within the framework its created, but… I don't get it, man."

Eland's expression softened, but there was no mistaking the firmness in his tone as he spoke. "Cultivation is real, Blake. And what you're calling 'magic' is simply the act of imposing your will upon reality until it bends to meet your intent." He gestured at the suspended sphere of metal fragments as if to emphasize his point. "It’s not about belief in some mystical force—it’s about belief in yourself and the authority you have over your surroundings."

Blake let out a derisive snort, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at his own hands, fingers flexing unconsciously. The memory of the spatial distortion he’d created during the fight with the ferroghest alpha flashed through his mind—how it had felt like an extension of himself rather than some foreign power.

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Eland took a step closer, his tone lowering but losing none of its conviction. "You have to stop thinking like someone who’s bound by Earth’s rules—its physics, its limitations. Those don’t apply here. They never did. The only thing limiting you is your refusal to embrace what you’re capable of." He pointed one clawed finger at Blake’s chest. "The System is giving you tools, yes—but those tools mean nothing if you don't accept that you are the craftsman."

Blake met Eland’s gaze, his jaw tightening as he processed the words. He wanted to argue, to push back against the absurdity of it all, but something about Eland’s unwavering certainty kept him silent.

"Your will has power," Eland continued, his voice steady and deliberate. "If you can’t come to terms with that—if you keep clinging to what feels comfortable or logical—you’ll never unlock your potential." His golden eyes bore into Blake's amber ones with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. "So stop fighting against what’s right in front of you and start using it."

Blake nodded slowly, understanding beginning to dawn. This was probably one of the stumbling blocks Eland had worried about when he had called Classes a "shortcut." If what Eland was saying was correct—and Blake had no reason to believe the man was wrong—then holding onto the idea of his skills allowing him to do things was holding him back. The skill instead represented his ability to do something intrinsically. The power to do that—the authority, as Eland had described it—that came from the core he shared with Chimera.

Blake closed his eyes, letting his breath steady. "Hey, Chimera. Your kind—the leviathans. Do they use skills like ours to warp space and travel between stars?"

"Of course not." Her mental voice was amused. "We simply do it. It's what we are."

A smile tugged at the corner of Blake's mouth as he opened his eyes, looking at the suspended debris still floating around him. Maybe Eland was right. Maybe he'd been thinking about this all wrong.

"Ready to try again?" Eland asked.

Blake nodded, rolling his shoulders back. "Yeah. Let's see what happens when I stop fighting myself."

Blake extended his will outward, letting his awareness flow through the space around him like water. Instead of trying to force the energy into shape, he let it pool naturally, gathering where his attention focused. A translucent plane of force shimmered into existence before him, far faster than his previous attempts.

"Better!" Eland called out. "Now let's see how you handle multiple targets."

Golden spheres of energy materialized around the Stokrine, hovering like miniature suns. Blake tracked their movements, noting how they spread out to flank him. His muscles tensed, ready to move.

The first sphere shot forward like a bullet. Blake threw up a barrier, angling it to deflect rather than block. The projectile ricocheted away, but he barely had time to register his success before two more spheres streaked toward him from different directions.

Blake spun, creating smaller force planes as he moved. The constructs weren't perfect—more like hastily erected walls than the precise barriers he'd been practicing—but they served their purpose. Both spheres splashed harmlessly against his defenses.

"You're still thinking linearly," Eland observed, sending another volley. "Force doesn't just push forward. It can move in any direction, take any shape."

Blake grunted, dodging one sphere while deflecting another. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he maintained multiple barriers, adjusting their positions to cover his blind spots. His perception expanded, tracking the golden orbs as they wove through the air in increasingly complex patterns.

"The barrier isn't separate from you," Eland continued, his massive hands orchestrating the deadly dance. "It's an extension of your will, as natural as moving your arm or taking a breath."

A sphere slipped through Blake's defenses, catching him in the shoulder. The impact wasn't painful—Eland kept the force minimal for training—but it stung his pride. Blake narrowed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of energy flowing through his channels.

Instead of creating rigid walls, he began experimenting with curved surfaces, letting his barriers flow like liquid glass. A sphere darted toward his face; he redirected it with a concave plane that sent it spiraling away. Two more attacks came in low; Blake met them with angled barriers that deflected them into each other.

"Now you're getting it," Eland said approvingly. "Feel how the energy wants to move. Work with it, not against it."

Blake's movements became more fluid as he fell into a rhythm. Create, adjust, dissolve. Each barrier flowed into the next, never staying fixed for long. He started incorporating his footwork, using the momentum of his dodges to help shape his constructs.

The golden spheres came faster now, their patterns growing more unpredictable. Blake felt his mana channels straining to keep up, but there was a different quality to the exhaustion. Less like hitting a wall and more like stretching unused muscles.

A sphere curved around his peripheral vision, too fast to block conventionally. Without thinking, Blake created a small plane of force at an angle near his feet. He stepped onto it just as another sphere threatened to hit him from behind. The force plane provided just enough leverage to launch him sideways, his body twisting in the air as [Unfettered Stride] activated automatically.

Time seemed to slow as understanding clicked into place. The ability wasn't just about enhanced movement or supernatural agility. Many of its components were direct applications of force manipulation—using invisible platforms and momentum shifts to achieve impossible maneuvers. As his mastery of one skill grew, the other would naturally follow.

Blake landed in a crouch, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. Before he could fully process the implications, three more spheres rocketed toward him, and he threw himself back into the dance of force and motion.

Blake trained with Eland until his muscles burned and his lungs ached, pushing himself through another two hours of grueling practice. Just as he was finding his rhythm, Chimera's voice cut through his concentration.

"Alright, hot-shot." Her tone was distressingly smug. She was definitely up to something.

"It's time for us to look over your gear. I've been working on some important upgrades."