'So… how exactly is a Stage 3 vessel supposed to hold the mother of dragons?'
The answer came at once, and it tasted like burnt rust.
The Primordial essence kept coming. It poured out of the mountain pinning me to the ledge and slammed into my empty well like a river that had found a hole in the floor. The cracked, dry bowl of my spirit core filled in a fraction of a second. Then it overflowed, and the pressure kept building, shoving against the warped walls of my Soul Sanctum from the inside.
I was going to burst. The mother of dragons was giving me everything she had, and everything she had was about to wipe me off the cliff face.
Then the dark lines in my skin moved.
