Dylan nodded without a word. Julius's words echoed within him, far clearer than the buzzing fatigue in his skull.
"A thread, not a wave." He stood up, knees trembling, and took his place before the stone monolith once more.
He closed his eyes, ignoring the mud caked on his face, the taste of iron on his tongue. He took a deep breath, not to inflate his lungs to bursting, but to seek out that faint spark within himself. He imagined it not as a devastating torrent, but as a thin stream of light, a vein of gold in the darkness of his own flesh.
His hand settled again on the rough, cold surface. He didn't push. Not yet. He simply felt the stone, its inertia, its absolute weight. He felt the contact of the earth under his feet, the coolness of the air in his throat.
Then, he called on the Essence.
