After breakfast, their day continued in a blur of training. Basic Wilderness Survival. Basic Martial Arts. Basic Aspect Utilization. Combat Strategies. Beast Behavior. Weakness Analysis.
By the time the sun hit its zenith, they were running on fumes. Yet even through exhaustion, they couldn't help but notice—no one else around them pushed as hard. No one else was this drained. Among all their peers, they stood apart. Not by talent. Just by effort.
And their day wasn't over.
In the late afternoon, they met with Solomon.
He taught only two things. The first: how to recognize and manage their own flaws—both physical and mental. The second was philosophy.
That part confused them. Until, of course, he spoke.
"What do you think is the most dangerous thing in our world?"
The question came from nowhere. Solomon stood before them like always, calm and distant. But something about his voice felt weighted.
They were silent.
Nemo answered first.
"The deep ocean."
Solomon shook his head. "That's the answer I expect from an Atlantean. But no."
Holt barely took a second.
"Strong beasts."
Still nothing from Solomon. His eyes shifted to Giada.
She hesitated, then said, "Other humans."
His gaze lingered on her. A flicker passed through his eyes—something like approval—but then he said, "No."
He paused.
"In our world, the most dangerous thing... is knowledge."
That made them all pause.
"Let me explain," he continued. "Not all knowledge. You're learning knowledge at the academy—carefully measured, structured, and filtered. Even the dangerous bits are diluted.
But true knowledge, the kind that touches the foundation of what we are, what the world is... that kind doesn't just inform you. It changes you.
Newly rooted individuals are vulnerable because of their connection to their mother tree. It pours knowledge into them, not all of which they're ready for. And with knowledge comes consequence. Your roots protect you—for a time—but your mind is finite. It can only take so much.
That's why the first night after Awakening is critical. If you don't release that knowledge, it overflows. You die, or worse—you become a beast."
Nemo leaned forward, breathing slowly. So much finally made sense.
"But..." he hesitated, "when I awakened, there was a girl with a gash on her head. She didn't heal it—she let it bleed. But she was already Awakened. Why would she still need to do that?"
Solomon's eyes sharpened.
"You entered the subway, didn't you?"
Nemo looked down. "I didn't know..."
"You rascal," Solomon muttered. "You're lucky to be alive. Once someone's in the water, retrieval is nearly impossible. Who came for you?"
"Someone said the Lord of Chains was nearby."
For a moment, Solomon's face turned still. Too still.
"...Ah. That explains it." Then, with a brisk pivot, "The bleeding—yes. That's what I wanted to talk about next."
He paced, his voice tightening.
"You see, knowledge doesn't just sit inside you. It shifts you. Shapes you. Especially knowledge tied to essence, to transformation. Some knowledge is so fundamental that your very body reacts to it."
Holt frowned. "Then why even teach it?"
"Because you have to know," Solomon answered. "Eventually. The beasts you'll face carry this knowledge like viruses. You'll encounter it whether you're ready or not. But here, with me, it's controlled. Measured."
Giada looked unsettled. "And the academy?"
"They know. That's why the curriculum is structured. You're taught safe knowledge—shaped and framed to keep it stable. They teach you how to use a blade, not why a blade cuts. I teach you the why."
He turned back to them, and his voice dropped to a murmur.
"There's a difference between learning facts... and understanding reality."
Something shifted in the air. Holt and Giada clutched their ears. Instinct. Pure, desperate instinct. Nemo's hand lifted too but stopped short. His curiosity—his flaw—held him back.
And Solomon spoke.
"Beasts are creatures that know their essence completely. They move in perfect harmony with what they are. When you gain foundational knowledge, your essence reacts. It wants to adapt. But your body might not be able to follow.
Through the heretical process known as Changing, the body pulls essence from its surroundings and reshapes itself to match what it now understands."
Nemo's mind raced. And then the pain came.
His skin burned. His bones ached. Organs twisted in rebellion. His body wanted to change.
He clenched every muscle and resisted.
He fell. Shaking. Barely conscious.
Still, Solomon spoke.
"Focused knowledge is manageable. It pushes your body in one direction. But broad, foundational knowledge—like this—it tears you apart. Your form tries to hold too many truths at once."
The pain faded. But a cold emptiness remained.
Solomon's voice echoed.
"The beasts I showed you before? They don't infect you with claws or venom. They inject you with ideas. They share knowledge slowly, over years, until your body changes. Until you turn."
Nemo's muscles locked again.
"And that's why I warn you. Knowledge without the power to hold your shape... corrupts. Not because it's evil. But because it's too much.
The stronger you are, the more you can hold. But if you're too weak... you'll change. And no one comes back from that."
Silence.
Nemo gasped as the pain finally released him. His whole body throbbed. It wasn't as sharp anymore. Just a low, persistent pressure—like something inside him still wanted out.
He glanced around. Holt and Giada were sprawled nearby, pale and sweating. Solomon must have spoken to all of them at once. They were recovering, barely.
Then, shivering, they heard his voice again.
They met each other's eyes. Pain. Sympathy. And then, more knowledge began to pour in.
Solomon's tone shifted slightly, heavier now, more grounded.
"The woman you saw... she was probably hit by the creature. The things that lurk beneath Atlantis are not weak. Not by any measure. They've already touched upon certain truths, the kind of knowledge most aren't meant to have."
He paused, watching their reactions. Nemo was listening, jaw tight. Holt's fists clenched unconsciously. Giada had gone completely still.
"That contact—being grazed by a truth like that—it gives them abilities. Abnormal, intrusive, and dangerous. Those abilities demand purification. That's why she let herself bleed. It's a way of drawing it out before it roots too deeply."
Solomon exhaled slowly.
"But now, as you've come to understand, if I were to explain that truth to you—if I even tried to define it—you might fall into it. Just hearing the wrong thing at the wrong time can be enough. It doesn't always corrupt through choice. Sometimes knowledge simply _is_ the contamination."
The weight of his words pressed down like stone.
Finally, he stopped talking and let the silence settle. The trio lay on the ground, catching their breath, minds still reeling, bodies still trembling.
Then Solomon spoke again, quieter, yet more intense.
"And now comes the part I've brought you here for. The only thing that lets you hold on when you face a crisis far worse than this. When truth itself claws at your mind and your body begins to slip away..."
He paused, just long enough for dread to take root.
"...the way to endure even that... is—"