Okun led the group of trainees down a path, on either side of the way rose the Briarstone ancestral totems—three on each—made from stone and clay, their weathered faces staring impassively ahead.

Wind skirled past the figures and rattled the prayer cloths tied around their bases. They felt older than the village itself, sentinels that had watched countless winters come and go.

Beyond the totems were the training grounds: an outside yard ringed with stout posts and rows of hay mannequins, many with target circles painted on their chests. Some dummies still bore the scars of countless practices. Spears, arrows, even icicles were lodged in them, no doubt from yesterday's training.

Beside the training grounds was a wide building, wider than even the chief's residence. With an accompanying wide front door, it led to a low, heavily-timbered building. It was where the more serious and private drills took place.

While Mumu and Nini looked in awe, to Miuson, the place was as familiar as the lines on his palms: the scrape of boots on the snowy yard, the hard thump of practice spears, the determined shouts of training—he could still hear it all. He watched the mannequin targets with a quiet gaze, already cataloguing drills he'd run and those he'd yet to master.

Liam's eyes lingered on the totem towers as they passed, memory leading him back to Enohay's shrine statues. He could see the same way ancestors were rendered in stone—different faces, same reverence.

For Dama, his feet felt heavier with every step. The more the training yard revealed itself, the more his stomach filled with butterflies. He tried to steady his breathing, but memories crowded the space between inhales—the Labyrinth's twisting halls, Giona's face swallowed by shadow, the Curse of Hatred's grin—disrupting his rhythm.

If the Oni is, even by a fraction, as evil as the Curse of Hatred, then the thought of testing himself against such a thing again...

For a moment, Dama stopped. His legs felt weak. His teeth pressed into his lower lip. His eyes began tearing up. His hand rubbed the side of his stomach.

He was scared. The fear of the unknown was now known to him, allowing paranoia to make his soul its home.

The cracks in Dama's demeanor showed on his face—subtle, but the stitched pair saw it immediately.

Mumu moved up beside him without a word and put a broad, padded paw on his shoulder with the gravity of a guardian. Nini pressed herself against Dama's side and nudged his hip, an earnest whine escaping her as she felt his trembling.

No words were spoken. Both acts said what Dama needed to hear: "You are not alone. We'll keep you safe!"

Dama drew a slow, grounding breath, feeling the warmth of their resolve channel through him. He let his shoulders drop and a grin creased his face. "With Mumu and Nini, everything will be fine..." he thought, and the certainty felt like a small armor that would have to do—for now.

As the group made it to the front steps of the building, Miuson fell into a light jog and reached the heavy oaken door before the others. "Chief, allow me." He said—part courtesy, part habit. His palm found the iron ring and he pulled. The hinges complained, then gave, and the room beyond breathed out warm, dry air scented with woodsmoke, resin, sweat, and old polish.

Dama and Liam stepped through and both stopped short. The interior was larger than either had expected—a wide, barnlike hall with a high, dark-oak ceiling. Benches ran along the sides, shelves and cubbies held racks of spare spears & practice gear, and the far wall was lined with targets nicked from countless drills. The floor was swept clean but bore the faint scars of many impacts: the place tasted of labor and discipline.

Despite that, their eyes were drawn all the way to the back of the room. There, on a low pedestal, sat an egg-shaped gem unlike any trinket they'd ever seen. Its base was ringed in jagged black rock as though it had been wrested from the earth directly. The upper half, however, was a clear, luminous stone that seemed to have a mist like substance swirling inside.

Three torches stood sentinel around it, their flames throwing quick, reverent shadows that made the gem look as if it were pulsing gently with its own heartbeat.

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Dama took a step forward, curiosity and a dozen questions on his tongue. "What is that?" he asked before the thought could be contained.

Okun lifted a broad hand in the old, practiced gesture that asked patience. "You will learn of it in due time." He said, voice firm but not unkind.

He turned, his gaze sweeping the three youths and set his tone to business. "In this room, you will begin the first step of the basic foundation of Soul Amplification."

Okun then raised his hand, his voice lowering. "Before that, let us remind ourselves what exactly soulura is." He turned his hand towards Miuson. "Miuson, if you may."

Miuson straightened instantly, bowing at the waist with practiced respect. "Yes, Chief."

Lifting his head, he spoke with steady clarity, though a flicker of nervous pride was in his eyes. "Soulura is the aura naturally produced by one's soul, though invisible to the naked eye. Anything with a soul possesses it and can use it. Soulura may be channeled directly to strengthen the body or used to fuel Soulful and Affinity Techniques."

Okun gave a firm nod of approval. "Well said, Miuson. You've been listening well."

A warm laugh sounded from behind Miuson as a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. "And not just listening—retaining, too."

Miuson almost jumped, looking back to find Domitius standing there, broad-shouldered and smiling.

"Domitius," Okun greeted with genuine warmth, "I'm glad you could make it before we get into the meat of training. We'll need you—since you're the only other in Briarstone who can control his soulura."

The remark drew surprised looks from the crowd. Dama blinked in disbelief, while Liam's brows shot up.

Dama was the first one to speak, perking up with a confused expression. "W-Wait, but... I thought Mr. Miuson knew how to control his soulura too?"

"M-Mister Miuson...?" Miuson repeated in his head, raising a brow. He then shook both his head and a hand as he admitted, "Unfortunately no, Dama. I do not know how to control my soulura."

A response that confused Dama to no end as he wondered in his head. "But wait, then how can he use his Fire Affinity willingly?"

Liam leaned forward, still staring at Domitius. "You really can control your soulura?"

Domitius grinned, folding his arms over his chest. "I can. Though let's be clear," he jerked a thumb toward the chief with an easy laugh, "I'm leagues below the chief!"

Okun inclined his head with a modest, almost amused smile. "Modesty suits me," he said, voice low and warm, "but it's true—my reserves and proficiency are greater than Dominitus'. Which brings me to the point I want you to understand about soulura."

He planted both feet, palms open as if presenting a lesson. "Every living thing carries soulura, yes, but the amount one is born with, and the talent to shape it, varies wildly. Some people need years, decades even, to even glimpse the edge of it. A rare few, like myself, find the current and learn to swim in it almost naturally. Others, like Dominitus, who have trained all their lives, only unlock it when life itself demands everything of them—life-or-death."

Dominitus shifted, pride and a little embarrassment mixing on his face as all eyes swung to him. Okun continued without missing a beat. "My case is very rare. Dominitus's case is rare as well. If I had to put a number to it… I'd say perhaps one in a hundred people in the world can control their soulura in any meaningful way."

The weight of that sank in as Liam's brow furrowed. He lowered his head as the calculation rolled through his mind, then looked up and turned to Dominitus. "What…" he gulped. "What was the life-or-death situation that unlocked it for you?"

Dominitus let out a low, rumbling laugh, the kind that had weathered many winters. "You remember when I told you I once killed a bear on my own? That was it!"

Without ceremony he shrugged off part of his guard uniform—the discarded parts landing with a loud thump on the floor—and turned so they could see. Across his left side, three long, jagged scars ran from his ribs up toward his shoulder. It spoke of a close, brutal reckoning rather than courtesy. The room went quiet in both awe and respect.

Dama went still, jaw dropping—his eyes tracked the pale line of Dominitus's scar as if it told the whole story on its own. Mumu and Nini mirrored the shock; even Nini's tail stilled mid-wag.

Liam's confusion turned to awed admiration, the single-word "Impressive" slipping out as much for the raw proof of the bear story as for the sight of Dominitus's hulking frame.

His gaze then snapped back into focus and to Okun, sharpening. "Hold on, if the ability to control one's soulura only seems to come naturally in rare cases—or is forced by a life-or-death shock—how do you expect us to learn it in short order? You must have other ways in mind other than being mauled by bears, r-right?"

Okun's chuckle was soft, but it carried a meaning that put the question in its place. "Your worry is not unfounded, Liam." He admitted, rubbing a thumb along his beard in slight amusement to Liam breaking character a bit. "There are ways besides meditating for years or waiting for fate to shove you into skill."

Liam breathed out a sigh of relief hearing this. But, Okun wasn't finished, as his gaze sharpened, the symbol in his right eye seemingly pulsing with power, causing Liam's body to tremor. "However, they are not without risk."

Dominitus stepped forward and spoke in a voice that had the taste of field experience. "There are two methods we call 'Forced Awakenings' you see. One is more dangerous than the other, but both aim for the same result: they overload a person's bodily gates—force the soulura to surge beyond what the body normally allows so that the sleeper learns the feeling of their own soulura, and work towards bringing it out by themselves."

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Next: (Chapter 81) The Basics of Soul Amplification: Part 2

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