As he stepped into the quiet hall, a gentle hum thrummed beneath the floor, barely audible. The very stone seemed alive with energy, like a slow heartbeat buried beneath the crystal.

Students were already settling on circular mats arranged in a broad ring. Most were seated with legs folded, hands resting on knees or cores. A few had their eyes closed in meditation, already attuning themselves to the ambient spirit field.

And among them—

Seria Sacramento.

Her familiar butterfly companion rested gently against her temple, its wings fluttered slightly. She looked up and smiled slightly when she noticed him.

"Hey, Aston. Can't believe we're in the same class this time."

"Hi, Seria."

He returned her nod and made his way toward the opposite side of the ring—only to notice another familiar presence settling onto a mat nearby.

Genevieve Ortega.

Now in a fresh red robe, she waved at him as he passed.

"Hey. Long time no see, Aston. Guess we're sharing a lot of the same foundations."

"Yeah. Seems that way."

Genevieve touched Gray's chin, who was enjoying the attention.

"Honestly, I don't mind. I heard this instructor is a bit of a meditative nut, but really sharp."

Just then, a calm but grounded voice echoed through the chamber.

"Straighten your spine. Soften your shoulders. Settle your spirit."

The instructor entered through a side passage. He was a man in purple robes—another Enchantment Arts professor like Professor Nyra. His long dark hair was bound in a high knot, and his eyes were partially closed, as though constantly in a trance.

"I am Veris Kaon," he said as he stepped into the circle's center, barefoot on the smooth stone. "And this class is Essence Channeling and Core Cultivation."

He lowered himself with fluid grace, sitting cross-legged in the middle.

"You are not here to learn how to fight. Not today. You are here to learn how not to break."

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He extended his hands gently, palms up.

"Your core is like a hearth. Its warmth feeds your strength. Its flame powers your resonance. But if your hearth is untended—if your flame burns wild or too dim—then all your technique and theory will crumble."

Aston closed his eyes, syncing his breathing with the subtle thrum of the hall. This wasn't like Nyra's class, sharp and directive. Professor Veris spoke in gentle waves, inviting stillness rather than demanding control.

"Close your eyes." Professor Veris said softly. "Draw in breath—but not with your lungs. Breathe with your spirit."

"Find the rotation of your core. Feel its pulse. Let it speak, and you… simply listen."

Around the chamber, students settled deeper into their postures. Even the most fidgety among them slowly quieted under the rhythmic resonance of the hall.

For Aston, that pulse came faster than expected.

His core thrummed steadily—already active, already alive. Red in color, yet deeper in flow than others likely sensed.

He felt Gray and Mirage both still nearby, resting but attentive.

Professor Veris moved silently through the chamber.

Barefoot, with his robes trailing like mist over the smooth stone, he passed behind each student with unhurried grace. His presence didn't disrupt the atmosphere—it merged with it. His eyes remained half-lidded, but his spirit extended outward, brushing gently against each seated figure like a silent wave through still water.

He paused briefly behind a girl from the Spirit Alchemy Division whose core trembled faintly with uneven rhythm. He murmured in a quiet correction.

"Loosen your shoulders. Let the breath pass through—not cling to it."

The girl adjusted, exhaled, and steadied.

He continued on, stopping next to a boy whose breathing was too rigid, forceful.

"You are not charging it," Veris whispered. "You are meeting it."

And then, he came to Aston.

For a moment, he simply stood there, saying nothing.

Aston remained calm, eyes closed, posture straight. But inwardly, his attention sharpened. He could feel the instructor's spirit reaching toward him—not invasive, but observant.

Professor Veris tilted his head slightly. His brow furrowed by the smallest fraction.

Aston's core was spinning.

Not wildly, not chaotically—but with a strength and consistency that belied its 'red' classification. It wasn't just active—it was focused, like a wheel already worn smooth by prior motion. It held no visible instability. No signs of overextension. It radiated discipline. Restraint.

He's nearing a breakthrough…

Professor Veris' gaze lingered for a few more breaths. He said nothing, and quietly moved on.

The room remained silent save for the faint hum of spiritual resonance pulsing beneath the stone floor. Professor Veris continued his quiet rounds, adjusting a student's posture here, correcting breathing there.

"Too shallow," he whispered as he passed behind a Commerce student.

"Don't resist the rhythm. Flow with it."

"Your core is not your enemy."

Some students wavered, their breathing uneven. Others began to sweat as they struggled to keep their spiritual flow steady. A few glowed faintly, their cores stabilizing for the first time.

And Aston sat motionless, eyes closed, immersed.

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