"Mr. Liam!" Dama's shout cracked the quiet like a snapped twig. He ran forward, tripping over his own legs and coming down hard beside Liam. For a second, he simply stared in a daze, then scrambled to his feet and dropped to knee-level to meet him. "Are you—are you okay?"

Liam coughed again—a wet, rattling sound that left a smear on his lower lip—then forced himself to straighten. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, blinking rapidly as if to clear the world back into focus. "I'm…I'm okay..." he managed, voice hoarse but steady.

Dama's shoulders loosened fractionally, relief flickering across his face. He leaned in, eyes searching. "Does anything hurt?"

Liam shook his head. "No, nothing 'hurts', perse. But it's…unpleasant."

He pressed a hand flat to his chest as if to hold the pressure in. "It feels like—" he groped for a metaphor, then went with the one that fit. "Like the largest gust of wind you could imagine. Like a wall of thick, heavy air slammed into me and I couldn't move through it. My insides felt pressed against my muscles. It's like everything tried to rearrange itself at once." He forced a rueful, if tired, chuckle. "Not something I'd want to volunteer for again..."

Dama's expression shifted from fear, to relief, then back to eager concern. "So, did it work? Can you feel your soulura? Can you control it now?" The words tumbled out, urgent.

Before Liam could answer, Okun's calm voice cut across the room. "No, it failed."

Liam's shoulders slumped, and then he confirmed it himself in a low tone. "Yeah. It didn't take, pal."

Dama's face twist with a mixture of confusion and disappointment. He turned to Dominitus as if the captain might have a simpler explanation.

Dominitus stepped forward, the casual grin wiped from his face into something more sober. He rubbed the scar along his ribs absently as he spoke, voice level and practical. "The reason's plain: Liam simply couldn't generate enough of his own soulura to meet Chief Okun's halfway. For the transference to flood the gates, the receiver has to at least marshal a solid base of their own flow."

"I see, it's like pouring a cup of water..." Miuson, who had grasped his chin in thought, interjected. "The cup is a bodily gate and the water being poured in is the chief's soulura, aiming to overflow the cup. But, in order to overflow it, there must be some water already inside—Liam's soulura."

"Close enough!" Domitius proudly bellowed. "Chief poured in his end, but Liam's inner current didn't rise fast enough to let the surge take hold."

Miuson cocked an eyebrow towards his captain. "Wait, captain, if that's the case, why doesn't the chief just channel more soulura to make up the difference?"

Domitius shook his head in a way of a man who knew the question was coming, and already had the answer. "Let's use your cup example for a sec. If we were to get more specific, Liam boy's soulura would be water, and the chief's would be something way more dense, something the cup wouldn't be made nor accustomed to hold. Too much of the denser liquid would cause the cup, or Liam boy's body in this sense, to shatter."

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Miuson and Dama exchanged looks—Liam's attempt had felt brave and hard, but it had also shown the truth of Okun's warning: you needed something inside you already, an ember waiting to be fanned. Training, it seemed, would be harder and stranger than any of them had expected.

Liam pushed himself to his feet with an embarrassed cough, hand pressed to his chest as if to steady the aftershocks. "Nonetheless, let's—let's give it another go!" he said, voice steadying despite the rasp. The stubbornness that Domitius and Okun wanted was there, a man's pride, refusing to quit at the first try.

Despite that, Okun's expression hardened into the careful patience of a man who'd watched too many eager attempts go wrong. He set a flat palm on Liam's shoulder and shook his head. "No, we will not risk it again right now. If you cannot marshal enough of your own soulura to meet mine, repeating the same method only wastes effort and endangers you."

Liam's shoulders sagged a hair—disappointment and relief tangled together—but before the moment could sour, Dominitus stepped in. He clapped a heavy hand on Liam's other shoulder, giving it two quick pats with the frank. "You were a fine test subject if I don't say so myself!" Dominitus rumbled, voice warm. "Don't wear that failed look. Most folk who try that first method don't even get close. You were close. That means something."

He gave Liam a grin that was half compliment, half captain's counsel. "You've got potential; you just don't have the same…gift that Chief does. That's not a failing. It's just the truth of the world."

Dominitus's hand stayed where it was, his grip firm. He leaned in, conspiratorial and steady. "Listen," he said more quietly, eyes locking with Liam's, "you and I? We're built the same way. We get things from hard work and from necessity, not from some blessed natural reserve. For a man like you, the second method, the direct one, works far better. It uses your reflexes and your body's instinctive ways to open the gates. I can guarantee that it will give you what you need, if you trust the process—and me."

He slid his arm fully around Liam's shoulders in a brotherly gesture, the sort that steadied a younger man as much by weight as by meaning. Liam could see the conviction in Dominitus's face, no bravado, only the hard-earned certainty of someone who'd been forged in labor and come out sharper for it.

Dominitus's grin turned sly as he shifted his weight, eyes sliding to Okun. "I think it'd be best if I administered the second method."

Okun regarded him for a long, slow breath, then nodded once. "Very well, I will continue helping Miuson and Dama." The agreement landed in the room with a soft finality. Liam swallowed audibly, though he tried to hide it behind a casual throat-clear.

Domitius then hugged Liam into him. "Don't you worry, boy!" He said whilst clapping Liam on the chest with enough force to be both reassuring and vaguely terrifying. Before Liam could steady himself, Domitius had already begun shepherding him toward the doorway. "You're in good hands. Same for Dama—Chief Okun will see to him well! We'll make men with souls with of ya!"

The pair left the training hall in that same half-serious, half-brotherly fashion—Dominitus talking tactics, Liam trying to keep up and looking every inch the man who'd chosen the safer method first but was not about to shirk a challenge outright.

When the door settled back into place, Okun turned his full attention to the two left behind. The torchlight seemed to lean in, as if the room itself waited for the answer.

"Dama," Okun began, voice even and patient, "Miuson—do you both understand the process of Soulura Transference? Are you prepared to try it now?"

Dama's face tightened. The training hall felt suddenly too wide and too quiet. He glanced away first, to the floor, then at Mumu and Nini sitting a short step behind him. Fear and eagerness warred in his eyes; he swallowed, fingers curling on his knees. For a heartbeat, he hesitated, the weight of what had been explained—the risks, the failure they'd watched—pressing on him like cold fingers.

Before Dama could find the words, Miuson stepped forward. He moved with the sort of steady calm he thought the village had come to expect from him: soldierly, measured, determined. He bowed to Okun with respectful precision, the motion crisp and honest.

"I understand, and I am ready, Chief." Miuson said, voice clear and steady—no bravado, only resolve.

-

Next: (Chapter 84) Forced Awakenings: The 2nd Method

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