The training chamber hummed, a vibration that tickled Eli's skin. He lunged, practicing the Comet's Trail, Starling a blur in his hands. But the binding spell, like a living shock collar, tightened. Unseen golden threads coiled around his throat, constricting, burning. The spell was learning, adapting.

  Sweat stung his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear the haze, to focus on the faint, prismatic threads of mana that Marco insisted were there, hovering just beyond his grasp. Remnants of the Elting Lira had wielded with such effortless grace.

  He reached out a hand, fingers outstretched, yearning to brush against them, to finally grasp the elusive energy. But they shimmered and dissipated like smoke, always just out of reach, tantalizingly close yet eternally distant.

  Marco's hologram flickered into existence beside a scorch mark on the wall – a reminder of yesterday's near-disaster. ?Observation: Meridian pathways are demonstrating increased resilience,? Marco's synthesized voice announced, clinical yet not unkind. ?Your physical form is adapting to the energy flow. However, the binding spell is also exhibiting adaptive behavior. It is learning.?

  The AI's tone carried that subtle warmth Eli had first noticed during Starling's creation, a hint of something more complex than pure programming.

  Eli clenched his jaw, the throbbing in his neck a constant reminder. He pushed through the pain, focusing on the form, on Starling, on the phantom threads he could almost, but not quite, see.

  He could feel the corrupted threads now, a constant, irritating presence, not just suppressing his power, but actively studying him. Learning his rhythm, anticipating his intent. The new runes that had formed during Starling's crafting pulsed with distinct energy signatures, each one contributing to the spell's evolution.

  They were like tiny pinpricks under his skin, just at the edge of his awareness, always present, always watching. He swatted at his neck instinctively, a futile gesture. They remained, unseen, untouchable, a constant, unnerving pressure.

  "What are they, Marco?" he gasped, his voice strained, each word a painful exhale. "The threads. Lira could always see them, clear as day. But to me they're so faint… What do they do?"

  Marco paused. ?Analysis: The threads are… the fundamental building blocks of this reality. Lira calls it 'Elting'. It's… a simplified way of using the foundational energies of this world. A faint echo of what the Ancients could do.?

  The hologram showed a swirling vortex of colors, threads intertwining in a chaotic dance. ?The Ancients called this the 'Loom of Creation' – the source of everything. Your ability to even see these threads, Eli, is… remarkable. It proves your power, the power the binding spell is trying to lock away.?

  "But I can't touch them," Eli said, frustration lacing his voice. He lowered Starling, the mana threads dissipating, leaving him feeling depleted, empty. "They're like smoke. Illusions."

  ?Negative,? Marco corrected. ?Your vision is clouded. The spell blocks you. As you grow stronger, as you learn to control your own energy, you will touch them. Feel them. Shape them.? Marco paused. ?Fire threads feel like searing heat. Air threads, like a cool wind. Spirit threads, a gentle hum. And Chaos threads…? A glitch. ?…Chaos threads feel like… your teeth aching.?

  ?Focus, Eli,? Marco's voice cut in, a steady presence in his mind. ?Use your frustration. Fuel the strike, don't let it cloud it.?

  Eli closed his eyes. He visualized the Loom, the threads. He focused on the burning in his neck, the phantom weight of the spell, and instead of fighting it, he tried to… channel it. To direct that raw, negative energy into his strike.

  He lunged again, Comet's Trail, Starling trembling in his white-knuckled grip. He imagined the threads of Fire and Air, not as distant illusions, but as tangible forces, converging, coalescing, flowing into his weapon.

  He pictured the faint strands, no longer ephemeral smoke, but threads of vibrant color, flowing into his body, merging with his own nascent energy, fueling his movements, driving him forward. For a split second, a flicker of something shifted within him.

  Stolen story; please report.

  The binding spell's corrupted golden filaments seemed to dim, their oppressive pressure lessening almost imperceptibly. And at the tip of Starling, a spark ignited – a tiny, nascent flame, flickering into existence.

  Then, CRACK.

  Pain exploded. The spell flared, burning like a brand. Eli collapsed, gasping, tasting copper.

  ?Distorted scream pattern detected,? the L.I.S.T. announced, an almost clinical alarm in its voice. But this time was different. As Eli gathered himself for another attempt, he noticed something new about the binding spell's response.

  Eli lunged, channeling the energy. This time, however, there was a new layer to the familiar agony. As the golden threads constricted, they pulsed, not just with pain, but with a strange, rhythmic vibration.

  It felt… sickeningly… familiar. Like a twisted echo of Starling's hum, of the faint thrumming of his own Argentum Core.

  He could feel the spell's individual runes, no longer just burning, but shifting, reconfiguring themselves against his skin. They were like tiny, metallic insects, burrowing, rearranging, their movements both agonizing and… strangely… purposeful.

  Each glyph pulsed with a distinct sensation – one a sharp, icy sting, another a dull, throbbing ache, a third a nauseating, twisting pressure. Rune 3, he realized with chilling clarity, was the source of this new, icy disruption.

  And beneath it all, a faint, almost imperceptible whisper, a sibilant chorus of voices just beyond the threshold of hearing, urging him… closer.

  He stumbled, breaking the form, gasping for breath. The pain didn't subside immediately; it lingered, a phantom echo of the spell's shifting configuration. He could feel it, a dark, insidious presence within him, not just suppressing his power, but… studying it. Adapting to it.

  It was a horrifying realization – the spell wasn't just a prison, it was a… parasite. And it was evolving.

  "It... it felt different that time," Eli managed, his voice hoarse, clutching at his neck. "Like... like it was moving inside me. Not just... burning."

  ? Analysis Update ?

  ?The binding spell's adaptive synchronization is progressing at an accelerated rate. The corrupted threads are resonating with your Argentum Core's energy signature. Attempting to integrate.?

  ? Tactical Paradox ?

  Increased power output potential: Yes

  Elevated risk: Drastically increased

  Corruption: High potential

  Loss of control: Significant risk

  ?The binding spell is attempting to weaponize your own heritage.?

  ? Combat Analysis ?

  Form: Comet's Trail

  Efficiency: Stumbling Gazelle ?? "At least you're not falling. Today."

  Charging Boar

  Meridian Flow: Clogged Stream ▼ ? Turbulent River

  Binding Spell: ? Overload Imminent ? Adaptive Synchronization

  Suggested Action:

  "Stop trying to impress me. Your pain tolerance is above average, but your healing factor is not."

  "Extreme Caution Advised. This is uncharted territory."

  Binding Spell: Rune 3 Active. Cryonic Disruption.

  "Overcompensating?" Eli spat, wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the ozone scent of the training chamber. "This thing's eating me alive, Marco."

  Eli glanced down at the floor, noticing the comet-shaped scorch mark from yesterday's session. The same pattern was trying to form today, a testament to his growing connection to this particular energy signature. The pattern that had first appeared during Starling's creation was becoming his signature—his power finding its form.

  Marco's single blue light pulsed rhythmically, a visual manifestation of the AI's internal processing. ?Risk assessment protocols engaged,? Marco stated, his voice momentarily losing its synthesized smoothness, becoming almost… granular.

  ?Your Hero's Lineage genetic markers are exhibiting significant resistance to the binding spell's suppression matrix. Observe.?

  A new hologram materialized, a complex, anatomical projection of Eli's body, shimmering and translucent. The corrupted golden threads of the binding spell were clearly visible, snarled and constricting around his throat, a dark, choking collar of energy.

  But deep within his chest, centered over his heart, a cobalt light pulsed, a vibrant, defiant spark pushing back against the encroaching darkness. It was faint, almost imperceptible against the overwhelming corruption, but undeniably there, a tiny beacon of defiance in the encroaching night.

  As he stared, mesmerized by the holographic representation of his own inner struggle, he felt it again – a faint, unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest, a subtle vibration that seemed to resonate with the pulsing cobalt light on the hologram.

  It was a strange sensation, both foreign and yet strangely familiar, like a forgotten memory stirring deep within him.

  "That's… my bloodline?" Eli whispered, his voice hoarse, his gaze fixed on the pulsing cobalt light within the hologram. He recalled his father's stories, fragmented tales of ancestral warriors, of a lineage stretching back to a time before the cataclysm.

  He thought of Erin, of the effortless way his father had wielded his own staff, the almost casual command he'd held over the very air around him. Was this the power he'd inherited? This faint, flickering light pushing back against the darkness?

  ?Affirmative,? Marco confirmed, the hologram shifting again, zooming in on the cobalt light, magnifying its intricate structure. ?Aethel genetic markers designate this as the 'Argentum Core'. It is the source of your inherent Elting potential. It is the reason the Krev seek your capture. It is the reason they… fear you.?