Cal's gaze locked onto the large melon he held in his palm, the manafruit, rather mana-melon pulsing with an otherworldly glow. "Just one to initiate the aethercore?" Cal's voice was even, betraying none of his inner turmoil.

"Uh-huh," Jabor grunted, his arms holding three more fruits. He withdrew them, the cluster resembling a constellation in his grasp. "Jaxon'll get you more later."

Cal nodded, taking the offerings. His mind raced with excitement as he turned away, leaving Jabor's imposing silhouette behind.

A secluded spot in the cave offered him refuge. Cal found his sanctuary: a hollow between two stalagmites, uncommon for a lava tube. The stone around him whispered of secrets of bygone eras. Here, he would peel back the layers to magic and tap into something deeper.

He settled onto the cool ground, legs crossed, the manafruit cradled in his hands like sacred relics. Eyes closed, he summoned the focus honed by years of covert operations and silent takedowns. His breathing slowed, each inhale a step further into himself, each exhale shedding the day's accumulated grit.

The manafruit's skin yielded beneath his fingers, its flesh sweet and alien against his tongue. Cal's world narrowed to the dance of flavors and the rhythm of his heart—a solitary drumbeat in the quiet expanse of his meditation.

Cal's teeth pierced the first manafruit's flesh, a tangy sweetness flooding his mouth. With each bite, reality thinned, colors and sounds bleeding away into silence. The world was gone, leaving Cal adrift in a sea of tranquility.

"Focus," whispered Temp's voice, an anchor in the void. "Not just on your soul. This is an entirely new sensation."

Taste and touch faded, yet Cal's awareness expanded, a sharpening of the mind rather than the senses. He perceived the invisible currents of power that wove through the fabric of existence, a tapestry vibrant with energy, it was silver in color. A river of silver.

"My body is empty, there is no mana there," Cal observed, clinical yet curious.

"Correct, you're sealed off. That is what I experienced as well. Remember the skill strengthen? I suspect that this is the way to bring mana within the body."

"Sealed... interesting" Cal echoed, thoughts adrift. A barrier within, holding him apart from the pulsating mana around him.

"Seek your core," instructed Temp, unyielding as steel.

Cal reached outward instead of inward, toward the essence of mana. There was something there—a flicker of potential, a wellspring sealed shut.

Cal's determination flared, a beacon in the dark. He would find his aethercore.

Cal wrestled with the void, his inner gaze scouring for a glimmer of his core. Another manafruit met its end between his teeth, its essence flowing into him, yet revealing nothing. Frustration simmered beneath his skin, an old companion to his stoic resolve.

"Still blind," he muttered, the sound a dull throb in the silence.

"Look deeper, can you can already see the flow?" Temp's voice directed, a distant rumble.

“Yes, but it feels like I have no way to find the core without a bloodline.”

Cal's pulse quickened, a drumbeat echoing the primal call within. Bloodlust—that ancient, unyielding force—stirred from the primal. He pulled on the thread, a lifeline perhaps.

The aura answered, a torrent from the heart of existence itself. It was cold and vast, indifferent to human plight. Cal drank from this raw power, each swallow stoking the fire of his bloodlust further. The fruit's remnants slipped from his grasp, forgotten and he quickly replaced it with another.

Time fractured, splintering into meaningless shards. Hours could have passed, or seconds. Cal was the eye of a storm, the center of a maelstrom that sought to rend the very fabric of dimensions.

"Deeper," he urged himself, the mantra fueling his descent.

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The world twisted, reality buckling under the pressure of his will. Bloodlust became his spear, his relentless drive the edge. It cleaved through layers unseen, reaching for a breakthrough that danced just out of reach.

Cal's gaze narrowed, vision tunneled as he reached inward, clawing at the edges of his being. His aura swirled chaotic, a storm to be tamed, it was nebulous. With each breath, he drew its wild tendrils in, compressing his aura tighter, denser. Muscles tensed, a physical echo of the mental strain.

"More," he grunted.

The energy resisted, a living thing with will and whim. But Cal was unyielding, a spy honed by countless missions, each demanding adaptability, finesse. His determination shaped the aura, forced it to obey. It compressed further.

"Shape it," Temp's voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the din.

A needle first. Cal envisioned it, slender and sharp. His aura obeyed, morphing with a crackle that tingled along his nerves. A surge of intent shot through him, precise and penetrating. He felt its point, imagined it piercing the veil of reality.

"Sharper," he whispered.

Next, a blade. Wider, heavier. The condensed aura flared outwards, edges forming with a hum of power. It was an extension of his will, a representation of his will to survive, to conquer. He swung it in his mind’s eye, trying to slice the void between Primal and reality.

"Stronger."

Finally, the drill. It took shape reluctantly, spinning with a sound like thunder. Its form was a testament to his focus, a swirling mass of intent and raw energy. Cal felt it vibrate within him, a tool not just for piercing but for burrowing into the depths of his untapped potential.

"Turn," he commanded.

The drill spun faster, a whirlwind of force within him. It was slow still, propelled by his own intent. Every revolution brought with it a burst of insight, a step closer to unlocking the secrets of his own power. He pushed against the limits of his control, feeling the aura respond, alive with possibility.

"Deeper," he urged, the word a silent explosion in the void of meditation.

Cal's aura, the bloodlust, sharpened to a pinpoint, converging on the ethereal drill pulsating into existence from the Primal in front of him. The fabric of reality stretched taut, resisting the intrusion of his honed focus. He grunted, muscles tensing in unseen exertion.

"Break," he muttered.

The spinning drill quivered, its revolutions growing erratic as it met the stubborn weave of existence. A shimmering barrier, thin as gossamer yet impenetrable, taunted him with its resilience. Cal's brow furrowed, sweat beading at his temples despite the chill of his meditative trance.

"Break!," he growled.

A thrum of victory sang through the air as the drill vibrated with renewed ferocity. It gnawed at the edges of the barrier, tendrils of intent drilling into the unseen wall before him. With each minute progression, the drill carved out a space where none had been, a hollow born from sheer determination.

"BREAK!," he coaxed.

The barrier buckled, fracturing under the relentless pressure of the full force of Cal's soul strength, of Anu'aris's class-3 soul strength. Sensations alien and exhilarating flooded Cal's senses—whispers of otherness, hints of a deeper connection to his soul.

"Again."

Reality yielded, thread by imperceptible thread. The drill, an extension of Cal's indomitable spirit, burrowed deeper, piercing through layers of existence as if they were layers of soil. Each layer of reality emboldened him, until he broke through to his own reality sending ripples of potential cascading through his very being. He felt it, the connection was visceral. And he could feel a qualitative boost in the strength of his soul.

"More."

Cal tried to brute force the drill to go further, but the world did not yield. He had no direction to take it.

The drill spun, a whirlwind of intent and focus. Cal's mind was the eye, serene amidst the chaos. Bloodlust, once a whisper, roared like a tempest around him him. He harnessed it, shaped it into the tool that now sought the seams of reality. Sweat beaded on his brow, yet within, he was ice.

His aura, vibrant and violent, danced to a rhythm only he could hear. The drill carved through the unseen, an artist's brush claiming canvas. With each passing second, the dance grew more intricate, the bloodlust a sharper edge to his focus. It had lost its guide, there was no other anchor to direct it to the Aether.

Cal commanded himself to find the source of Aether, his own aethercore hidden there.

"Deeper," he urged, and he subconsciously pulled the nearby mana toward his drill, towards his aura and he could feel the barriers of reality breaking further. Shadows retreated from corners of his being he'd never explored. A revelation bloomed—humanity’s potential was more vast than he knew.

"Cal!" The voice shattered the trance.

"Cal, wake up!" Temp's tone held an urgency that clawed at the edges of his consciousness.

"Wha—" Cal's eyes snapped open, disorientation clouding his vision. The spinning drill of aura dissipated like smoke in wind, but he could see the aftermath of his tests.

Temp said, relief tinged with accusation. "You went too far."

Cal looked around and saw Elena and the cervidians around him carefully watching from a distance while fighting several stage-one flying beasts.

Cal's heart hammered against his ribs. Jaxon in particular watched him warily.

"Too... far?" Cal's voice was rough, the taste of manafruit still lingering. He looked at the damaged surroundings, and the remnants of what were stalagmites. “This was me?”

"Your focus," Temp explained, "It was narrow. You almost pierced through Jaxon."

"Shit..." Cal echoed, feeling the sensation again. He could feel the channel he used to the Primal. It was his own.

"Next time," Temp continued, "Remember you are not just a blade or drill. You are the hand that wields it."