Amber light flickered across the cave walls, casting long shadows as Jaxon and Cal stood alert. The alcove, perched above a bubbling pool of lava, afforded them an odd sense of security—their own fiery moat. Muted crackles and the occasional hiss from below filled the air with heat and the scent of sulfur.

They had evicted the previous tenant quite forcefully, but Jabor had suffered injuries in the process. Now Cal and Jaxon stood watch.

Cal's eyes, sharp as a falcon's, darted between rock formations and steam vents. His body remained ready to spring into action. He surveyed the landscape that was their newfound temporary sanctuary, mindful of any shift in the patterns of shadow and light.

Jaxon, towering and statuesque beside him, watched with equal vigilance. The silence between them stretched, taut as a bowstring, until it frayed and snapped under the weight of unspoken thoughts.

"Temp," Jaxon's voice rumbled softly, barely more than a whisper against the sizzle of the molten rock. "You've got strength like I've never seen. If you are indeed a mortal, then you're a ghost."

Cal turned, meeting Jaxon's steely gaze, his own blue eyes unflinching. The air seemed to tighten around them, charged with the unsaid implication hanging heavily between the two warriors.

Cal nodded slowly, the acknowledgement heavy in his chest. "Yeah," he murmured, the word slipping out like a stone into still water. "But truth is, I don't have a clue what that means for me here. One moment I'm nowhere near this place, next, I'm dropped into this... trial? Game? I don't even know." His voice trailed off, a quiet echo in the vast cavern.

The admission hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Cal's gaze fell to the ground, his mind a tangle of uncertainty. He felt like a pawn snatched up and placed on a board designed by unknown players for an unfathomable game.

Jaxon shifted beside him, the motion stirring the air. "I get it, bro. It's good that you survived," he said, his tone softer than Cal would have expected from the cervidian's imposing frame. "Home might as well be a dream now. Might never see it again."

Cal's fingers curled into a fist, grit sifting between his knuckles. The feeling of being adrift, and now the latest revelation of an attribute tolerance blocking him from further power frustrated him. His only goal, to survive by becoming strong, dashed. He truly felt like dead weight in these fights, tackling only the weaker stage-ones.

"What troubles you?" Temp's voice was a whisper in Cal's mind, formless yet tinged with surprising concern.

"Power," Cal thought back, the mental link crisp. "It's slipping away. This path... is it a dead end?"

"We have been deceived by the system before," Temp cautioned, its words a binary blend of logic and intuition. "There may be another route – a loophole, I surmise."

Cal exhaled slowly, the warmth of his breath lost in the cavern's chill. "We need more info. A city, maybe. Unintegrated space, maybe? Somewhere with answers."

"Agreed," Temp replied, a pulse of agreement in the silent exchange.

Jaxon stood up and paced, the rhythmic echo of his steps bouncing off the stone walls. "To be honest bro, I’m a little jelly of the ghosts. We call ours the Average path," he began, his voice low as if to keep the lurking darkness at bay. "As mortals, the system always balances your stats. We only get to choose our path at stage-one. I had to fight in trials just to form my mortal dao-bound ability. Many people are forced to skip it."

Cal leaned against the cave's cool wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he processed Jaxon's words. The concept intrigued him; it was a tactical advantage he hadn't considered.

"Huh?," Cal prompted, his tone demanding yet calm.

"Stage-one," Jaxon said, pausing to emphasize the importance. "That's when the proper folk from integrated space get to decide their stat allocations to pick a class. Ghosts, they've got it easy—no penalties, no fuckin’ luck tax. Their will is their limit"

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“Curious,” Temp chimed in, a subtle vibration through Cal's consciousness. "This implies only 462 class combinations, assuming luck remains a ‘tax’." The AI's calculation was precise, devoid of emotion.

"Is that so?" Cal mulled over the information, a plan forming behind his stoic facade. “Is this what your family was fighting over? Freedom?”

"Exactly," Jaxon confirmed with a nod.

"Cal, this implies that there is room to maneuver," Temp's digital murmur cut through the air, like a cold draft seeping through invisible cracks. "Should we consider enhancing my vitality further to test? We may be able to revert adjustments by dumping luck into skills."

"Testing the limits could test our hypothesis," Cal replied, musing on Temp's bloodline ability. "Especially if luck is just a dump for the shop."

“So you were originally from unintegrated space?”

"Not me, I was born here. But my family was," Jaxon added. “This cursed SGP ruins everything.”

Cal's silence hung between them, heavy with contemplation for both conversations.

Using Temp's ability felt like stepping onto a battlefield blindfolded, but it was a chance they might have to take.

Cal's fingers drummed against the rugged surface of the cave floor, eyes glued to the dancing shadows cast by the flickering light above the lava pool. Temp's presence hovered at the edge of his consciousness, a persistent whisper that grew into clarity as they delved into strategy.

"Transferring attributes to and from luck," Cal mused, the idea crystallizing. "Could push your limits, break the ceiling of 350, and potentially still allow you to evolve."

"Potentially," Temp replied, its voice devoid of doubt but not curiosity. "Would necessitate a sweep of parameters vs. attribute space to test the tolerance, system and otherwise."

"High stakes for you Temp, are you willing?" Cal admitted, the weight of the decision pressing on his chest like the air before a storm. He exhaled slowly. For himself, there was largely only upside.

"Yet, high reward." Temp's digital tone held a note of intrigue. "My beast companion is in need of help."

“Heh." Cal chuckled, “You’ll have to practice your oversoul.”

“Jaxon, you mentioned dao-bound abilities – was that what the mountain smashing hit was?”

“That’s right. Remember Elena's words?"

"You mean about a strong foundation," he echoed, recalling the advice like an incantation.

"Right." Jaxon nodded, his posture relaxed yet vigilant. "Dao-bound skills, they're the cornerstone at mortality and stage-one. They let you pick more comprehensive and powerful classes at stage-two, unlike the generic stage-one options that just dictate allocation."

"So it’s a foundation for evolution," Cal murmured, the concept solidifying in his thoughts.

"Exactly. Meditate. Connect your aethercore to your soul. It's how I strengthen my skills," insisted Jaxon.

"Mana enhanced oversoul abilities!!" The term floated up from the depths of his subconscious. “Temp, it’s just another conduit!”

"Dao-bound skills," Temp's voice resonated within him, a guide in the fog of uncertainty. "They channel intent not just to your body but all the way to your aethercore."

"Ah..." Understanding dawned on Cal, the realization spreading through him like a wave. It wasn't about pulling the power to his muscles or his mind. It was about reaching deeper, touching the aethercore itself.

"Like threading a needle with your will," Cal whispered, vision clear.

"Exactly," came Jaxon's affirming reply. "All about navigating your intent to the aether, so you can drive mana how you will it."

Cal's eyes snapped open, a new resolve burning within them. He turned inwards to Temp.

"I have two goals and you have one," Cal stated firmly, his voice echoing slightly off the cavern walls. "First, I need to forge an aethercore." His gaze was sharp, like shards of blue ice. "Second, I need to refine my soul. My bloodlust already pierces from the primal to the physical. If it's going to be worth anything, it has to cut through the aether as easily as it does reality."

Temp, silent for a moment, considered this. "No bloodline... no traditional path," it finally replied. "Your methods will be unorthodox, unpredictable, unnavigated."

"Exactly," Cal nodded. “As for you, you need to master your bloodline. Can you shift attributes yet?”

“Not yet, I have simulated how to use it, but have not had a chance to practice. I believe active use will be needed before I can adjust attributes freely.”

Cal reached for his pistol, its cold metal grounding him. "Let’s put theory into practice then."

"Oversoul practice is what this is meant for. Well... that, and shooting things." Cal followed.

He looked out across the molten landscape, the heat from the lava warming his face. There was much to do, but with Temp at his side, the odds felt just a little less daunting.

He turned to Jaxon, who leaned against the cool rock wall, arms folded across his chest.

"Jaxon," Cal began, "You got any manafruits to spare?" The request hung in the air, charged with the urgency of their situation.

Jaxon's eyes narrowed, calculating. "I got chu, bro," he drawled. "But, what's in it for me?"

[Escalation, stage 2: Survive the entrapment of hungry predators. Time limit: 231 hours]