Aaron sat cross-legged as he pondered what he had learned. The humans told him that they required experience, and mana cultivation to upgrade their cores, but his Gift only showed beast shards.

Greater Beast Core 0/1000

The tunnels they were born in only had small beasts, so they hadn’t killed anything with cores. His counter showed nothing, so he dismissed the Runes, but his heart raced at the memory of the horde. The thought of thousands of beasts waiting to fill his core caused him to smile with anticipation.

He was also puzzled by something else about the humans. Most of the mana they processed was through their core, with very little being processed by their bodies. This was odd to him, as the cells in his body processed mana as easily as breathing, greedily feeding on the ambient energy.

Aaron was almost positive; it was Mother’s nurturing, bringing them closer to magical creatures and more attuned to the world in which they were born. He dismissed his idle thoughts, pulled out a manual, and began writing in it. He and his siblings had worked with the academy on learning to write and found that their nimble fingers were deft and easily picked up the skill.

He was creating his own manual to hone his form and build on his foundation. His thoughts seemed to process better when he saw them visualized, plus the idea of having a manual named after him sounded amazing. Aaron chuckled as he completed the last part and tossed the manual into his pack as he rose, walking to the center of the training area.

He took out his sword and held it high, feeling his center and finding complete balance as he took shallow breaths. Aaron found that the sword became a part of him in a way, an extension of his own body, and if he didn’t incorporate this into his training, he would have a flawed technique.

His foundation would be weak.

Finding his center was more than just the center of his body. It was a balance from the tip of his tail to the tip of his sword. Harmony in every cell of his body thrumming to the harmony of his blade. The weight of the weapon, the position of his tail, the placement of his feet, and even a single strand of hair. It all needed to be accounted for to complete his foundation.

Aaron closed his eyes, took his stance, and began swinging the blade, listening to the sound as it passed through the air. He started changing his stance and shuffling his feet as he slowly got swept away in the sword's lull. Finding his rhythm, as his heart fluttered, he started incorporating everything he had learned into a whole.

Consumed by the blade’s song, he slashed and stabbed as he danced around the clearing. He incorporated martial skills into the form as he kicked and lashed out with [Deadly Hands] between stabs and feints, ending in a twirl of slashes. A faint aura began to form around him as he fell into an imaginary world of his own design.

Aaron laughed his devilish laugh, turning into a blur as he roared through the clearing, lost in the hum of battle. As his blade sang its song of death, he could feel every cell in his body vibrating, matching the trembling of his weapon. He could tell that he was on the cusp of something more, something greater.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Perfect harmony of body and mind.

The dance with the blade.

But his triumph and excitement began to waver as the feeling of something missing began to set in. Aaron continued his dance, searching for that missing piece to take it further, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He didn’t know if it was training, skill, or something else entirely, but a piece was still missing.

After several hours, Aaron stopped, catching his breath as sweat ran down his face. He put his sword away as he walked back to his tent, chewing on what else he was missing. Walking by the Academy tent, he heard shouting, so he veered that way to see what the hell was going on.

Aaron stepped into the tent to see Cornelius and Kaznor yelling at each other over a desk with some contraptions and books. Things seemed to be getting heated as he came closer, and he could see some of the attendants creeping out of the room with practiced ease.

“Fire is not Chaos, you idiot!” Cornelius shouted.

“Fire is chaotic by nature, so how could it not be Chaos!” Kaznor shouted back, red-faced and pulling at his hair like a madman. He looked at Cornelius like an unruly child, refusing to listen to reason.

As Aaron came up to them, they both turned with looks of hope in their eyes, as if to find another voice to prove their ideas.

"Aaron, you’re an idiot, but please tell this bigger idiot that fire is not chaos,” Cornelius rasped, pointing at Kaznor.

“He’s just as young as you are!” Kaznor roared, not even reacting to the idiot part. “We have been practicing fire magic since the Dawn, and you’re telling me that all of our Insights are wrong!”

The man threw his hands in the air as if to give up the fight as Aaron stood, grumbling at being called an idiot. He thought briefly about their argument and decided he didn’t really know. Fire insights weren’t really his thing, but it did help, somewhat, when he considered his soul flame.

Why would the soul take the shape of a flame, if not for the fact that fire can be a form of life? Then how could it ever be chaos? Maybe chaotic in nature, but not chaos in essence. He shrugged, unsure of who was correct, but had a spark of inspiration for his own training when he thought of his soul flame.

“The soul!” Aaron roared triumphantly.

Cornelius and Kraznor stared blankly as Aaron ran from the tent in a hurry, roaring at his own success. They shook their heads, both mumbling idiot under their breath, as they continued their argument.

Aaron ran to his tent in excitement, hearing curses behind him. He laughed it off as he sat in his tent and recorded his exercise from earlier into his manual. A smile was plastered on his face as he knew that he had found the key to increasing his foundation.

He had learned of different ways that the humans cultivated their souls, but none of them seemed practical to him. His soul, though vibrant and steady, didn’t react to anything he did to it, seeming as if it were dormant. Aaron tried different things to attempt to nurture it, but was met with failure as it refused to react to anything.

Aaron pulled out his blade, holding it in front of him, feeling as if it were a part of him. He knew that he had connected mind and body, finding clarity in the blade’s song. The part that was missing was connecting this to the soul, completely integrating his body, mind, and soul into one.

Entering his soul space, his projection appeared, staring down at the ethereal flame. Golden mist swam in its depths, a small halo surrounding it as it burned steadily, giving tranquility to his soul space. Aaron tried to place his hands on it as if to embrace it, but his projection passed through harmlessly.

He had tried many times to interact with the damn thing but couldn’t. Aaron contemplated as he meditated in his soul space, eventually rising with a growl. He stepped up to his soul and gave it a piece of his mind.

‘Wake up stupid!’ He punched out as golden sparks danced across his astral fist.

He stared wide-eyed as his soul trembled and fell over in a blob. Arms and legs separated as it stood and faced him, a complete replica of his own shape. It reached back as if to grab something behind it.

And lashed out, striking him in the chest.

He flew back, bouncing and rolling through his soul space as it shuddered. Skidding to a stop, he held his astral chest, feeling as if his projection would shatter. Looking up at the traitorous soul, he growled in annoyance.

‘Feisty little shit.’