Clada entered his room and took a quick survey of his surroundings. He noticed that the tray with the empty dishes had been cleared. Briefly eyeing the door, he slid the table on the side against it, barricading the entrance.

Watching this unfold, Ren remarked with curiosity, ‘Are we going into this right now?’

Clada shook his head, clarifying, ‘No, I am going into it right now.’ He approached the window, testing its sturdiness with a little shake.

Ren's gaze followed, and after a moment's hesitation, he voiced his concerns. ‘I get your caution, but keep in mind that I have a higher chance of pulling through if things take a turn for the worse. I haven't used the enhancement in the past two days. Let me take it this time.’

Clada began to undress, removing his robes and top, setting all his belongings on the side until he was left in only his black pants. He shifted his gaze to Ren's ethereal form, stating, ‘That's precisely the point. If things go to shit, I want to ensure you have the chance either to stop it or, at the very least, to expel it.’

He settled on the bed, crossing his legs, and continued, ‘If what Blim said holds true, then the pill's primary effect on the body is to dull the senses. Its real target is the soul.’

Ren's expression darkened, his fists clenching. Clada's implication was clear: in a worst-case scenario, Ren might have to forcefully separate Clada's soul from the helm. As long as he awar.

It might seem perplexing as to why they'd even consider taking the pill if they believed it could harm them. However, the twins held no suspicion that Blim intended them harm. If they had, the pill wouldn't even be up for consideration. Their cautiousness was simply their typical response to the unknown.

Ren remained silent. Even if he had wanted to take over and consume the pill himself, there was no feasible way to force Clada out. The one in control always held the upper hand.

Clada examined the small glass bottle in his grasp. The white pill inside gleamed, reminiscent of a polished pearl. The sunlight still shone brightly outside, but as he uncapped the bottle, the room seemed to grow a touch colder.

Realizing that the pill's potency might be compromised by air exposure, Clada quickly popped it into his mouth and swallowed without chewing.

He closed his eyes and waited for a reaction, he waited... but nothing transpired. He didn't feel anything.

Feel anything? Clada pondered internally. He attempted to open his eyes, but only darkness greeted him. When he concentrated on his other senses, they too were shrouded in silence and void.

It's just as he described, Clada mused. Though he could move if he chose, he felt worse off than a blind person, so he remained still and waited.

He lost track of time, but he could sense a shift in his cognition. It wasn't a drowsy sensation; he was very much aware. However, his thoughts seemed to decelerate.

With no concept of time, he couldn't discern if minutes, days, or even weeks had elapsed. All he knew was that he felt trapped in this state, unable to break free.

He began to grow restless, waiting for the pill to influence his soul as Blim had described. But nothing occurred, time continued its march, and impatience gnawed at him.

Then, a sensation— or was it a vision? He struggled to define it, but it resembled a small green flame, flickering and swaying as though buffeted by a gentle breeze.

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This is it, Clada realized. Recalling Blim's advice, he knew he just needed to exert some influence over this tiny flame to achieve his goal.

Clada extended his will toward the delicate green flame. Yet, just before he could influence it, a powerful 'wind' surged, buffeting the flame. Contrary to his expectations, the flame didn't flicker out. Instead, it expanded, growing in intensity until it dominated his entire perception.

Suddenly, Clada felt as though a colossal hand had grasped him, hurling him and the burgeoning green flame together. The sensation left him disoriented, stripping away any semblance of focus he had.

Overwhelmed by a depth of nausea he had never known, Clada frantically searched for something stable, a point of reference, but all was elusive.

His senses were consumed entirely by the erratic movement of the immense green flame.

This is bad, he realized. He yearned to anchor himself, to find stability amidst the chaos, but he felt as weightless and directionless as a feather caught in a tempest. It felt as if an invisible force was squeezing his chest, denying him the very breath he so desperately sought.

The sensation was agonizing, going beyond mere physical pain. It felt as if he were being suffocating, every ounce of air wrested away from him.

Had he been deceived? Was the pill some kind of insidious poison designed to end a person in such a manner? He couldn't be sure. One thing, however, was glaringly evident: if this persisted, it would be his end.

Desperately, he channeled what remained of his clarity and determination onto the swirling green flames. Blim said the pill would rouse my soul, he clung to that thought, intensifying his focus on the flames that encapsulated him.

This should be the essence of my being, my very soul. I can take control of myself. As I have always done. With a resolute mental command, he willed the flames to cease their frenzied dance, resetting the 'Wind'. And he succeeded, they stilled, as though frozen in time.

The overwhelming nausea receded, and clarity began to seep back into his mind. I've done it. I've stopped it, he thought triumphantly.

But before he could truly relish the moment, that strong gust returned, scattering the flames anew, and the suffocating nausea surged back with even greater intensity.

Wasn't this supposed to end once I influenced the soul even slightly? He grappled with the thought as turmoil engulfed him and the sensation of suffocation intensified. It felt as though death lurked just around the corner. Instinctively, he knew: he had to either stabilize the erratic green flames or face oblivion.

While he could exert control over the flames, the incessant wind persistently disturbed their stillness. Every time they stirred, he felt an agonizing sensation, as if his very essence was being wrung out.

Refocusing on the flames, he mustered all his strength to quell their motion. Success was fleeting; the flames were stilled only to be disrupted again by the relentless wind.

Time and again he halted the flames, as if his life hinged on it, only for the wind to set them into chaotic motion anew.

Eventually, thought gave way to pure determination. With his remaining focus singularly channeled to subduing the flames, he felt himself gradually descending into an enveloping darkness, his mental clarity waning.

Facing the flame once more, a revelation dawned on him: Instead of resisting, perhaps I should simply go with the flow.

As the wind guided, Clada steered the green flame in tandem, yielding to its every whim. The nausea receded, yet the overwhelming sensation of suffocation persisted. It felt like an unyielding weight on his chest, an insatiable need to breathe, but he knew he was unable to do anything about it.

He continued to surrender to the winds for what seemed like hours. Gradually, he perceived their diminishing force until, eventually, they ceased altogether, leaving the flame still.

As soon as this tranquility settled, his dormant senses began to revive. The engulfing darkness receded, unveiling the familiar ceiling of his room. Just as he was about to gasp for air, a violent fit of coughing seized him.

An overpowering, putrid stench assailed his nostrils. Each cough expelled the remnants of vomit lodged in his throat. As full clarity returned, Clada realized he was sprawled on his back, narrowly avoiding drowning in his own vomit.

‘What a tragic end for such a divine meal,’ Ren commented, his somber tone betrayed no sarcasm.

"Did I almost just die in my own vomit?" Clada asked, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.