Rhys leaned against a rocky outcrop at the edge of the training grounds, his arms crossed as he stared into the distance. He wasn’t one to overthink things—fighting was fighting, and he prided himself on his raw instincts. Yet Eryndar’s words from earlier lingered in his mind.

“Feel your flow,” Rhys muttered to himself, scoffing. “I don’t need to feel anything to know I’m stronger than those other guys at the tournament announcement.”

Despite his bravado, Rhys couldn’t shake a nagging doubt. He’d seen the potential in his peers—Towan’s raw power, Kade’s precision, Elliot’s adaptability. Each of them brought something unique to the table, and while Rhys was confident in his abilities, he couldn’t deny that Eryndar’s training had uncovered depths of essence control he’d never considered.

Reluctantly, he slid down to sit on the ground, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Let’s see what this flow nonsense is all about.”

Closing his eyes, Rhys let his mind quiet. It took longer than he liked—his impatience made it difficult to focus—but eventually, he felt it. His essence wasn’t calm or steady like Kade’s or wild and forceful like Towan’s. Instead, it was bold and relentless, coursing through him like a fiery current.

“It’s… intense,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowing. His essence surged with every heartbeat, filling his limbs with energy that demanded to be unleashed. “No wonder I can hit so hard,” he realized, clenching his fists. “It’s like it’s always ready for a fight.”

He stood up abruptly, his body itching to move. “If it wants to fight, then let’s fight,” he said, his voice full of determination.

Rhys began throwing punches and kicks, each movement sharp and aggressive. He paid close attention to how his essence reacted, noticing how it naturally surged to his arms and legs with each strike. But as he continued, he realized something troubling—it wasn’t consistent.

“Damn it,” he growled, stopping to catch his breath. His essence felt explosive, but it lacked control. Sometimes it overpowered his strikes, leaving him off-balance; other times, it didn’t respond quickly enough, making his movements sluggish.

“It’s like a wild animal,” Rhys thought, frustration bubbling inside him. “Strong, but unpredictable.”

He closed his eyes again, fists tightening. “If it’s a wild animal, then I just have to tame it,” he told himself.

This time, he slowed down, focusing on the rhythm of his essence. He imagined it as a roaring flame, burning brightly within him. Instead of letting it rage unchecked, he visualized himself shaping it, directing it toward specific points in his body.

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As he moved, he felt the difference immediately. His punches and kicks became more precise, each one carrying the full weight of his essence without wasting energy. His strikes hit harder, faster, and with greater consistency.

“This is it,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “This is what Eryndar was talking about.”

But as he continued, he realized another limitation. His essence burned brightly, but it burned fast. After just a few minutes, he felt drained, his energy waning rapidly.

“So that’s the trade-off,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “I can hit hard, but I can’t keep it up for long.”

Despite the exhaustion, Rhys felt exhilarated. He now understood that his essence flow was built for short bursts of overwhelming power—a perfect fit for his aggressive fighting style.

“But if I can figure out how to sustain it longer,” he thought, his grin turning into a determined smirk, “there won’t be anyone who can keep up with me.”

Elliot stood apart from the others, the noise of their training fading into the background as he closed his eyes. Eryndar’s words echoed in his mind: “Your essence is yours alone. Understand it, and it will guide you.”

Unlike Towan, whose strength was evident in every punch, or Rhys, whose forceful energy pushed him to the edge, Elliot had always been quieter, more deliberate in his actions. He breathed deeply, feeling the faint hum of his essence, like a river flowing gently beneath his skin.

"Slow down," he thought, taking a meditative stance. He began to focus inward, visualizing the flow as if watching it from above. At first, it felt scattered, spreading evenly through his body, never pooling or surging in any particular area. It was calm, balanced—but uninspired.

"Why does it feel so… passive?" Elliot wondered. His essence was steady, almost too steady. There was no urgency, no natural inclination to strike or defend. He furrowed his brow, trying to sense more deeply.

"Your flow reflects who you are," Eryndar had told him once. "If it feels too stable, perhaps it is because you hesitate to act. Your mind seeks balance, but in combat, balance must shift to adapt."

Hesitate to act… The thought stung. Elliot realized it was true—he often avoided taking the first move in a fight, preferring to observe and react. While this gave him clarity, it also meant he lacked the initiative to seize opportunities.

He clenched his fists, focusing harder on the flow. "What do I want it to do?" he asked himself. His breath deepened as he pushed the flow toward his legs, imagining himself dodging faster, moving with precision. Then he redirected it to his arms, visualizing quicker strikes. But each time, the flow seemed reluctant, as if resisting drastic changes.

"It doesn’t want extremes," Elliot realized. "It wants harmony."

His essence wasn’t meant to surge wildly or stay static—it was meant to adapt, like water reshaping itself around obstacles. Instead of forcing it to concentrate in one area, Elliot began experimenting with small shifts, moving the flow subtly between his limbs, letting it guide him.

The change was immediate. His movements became smoother, more natural. He felt lighter, as if his body and essence were working together for the first time. He realized his flow wasn’t about raw power or overwhelming speed—it was about precision and timing.

“Eryndar was right,” Elliot murmured. “My essence isn’t passive—it’s patient.”

He opened his eyes, watching Towan and Rhys practice with their bursts of energy. His friends were fierce and dynamic, their flows suited for aggressive combat. But Elliot smiled, realizing his strength lay in something different.

His essence was a quiet current, ready to shift at a moment’s notice. And in that adaptability, he saw a power that could rival even the strongest.