Lysera took him to the Twilight Forests three days after the Rivenmaw incident.
"You need to understand your power in isolation," she said as they moved through the twisted vegetation and bioluminescent growth. "In Haven, you're constantly suppressing yourself because of how people respond. Out here, you can express freely without causing panic."
They traveled for a full day before establishing camp in a clearing surrounded by crystalline formations that caught the ambient light and refracted it into patterns that almost looked intentional. Marcus set up the tent while Lysera gathered firewood from the forest's sparse dried vegetation.
When the fire was established, she began his real training.
"Show me," she said simply. "Show me the power without restriction."
Marcus hesitated. "I might hurt you."
"You might. But I've survived four hundred years. I'm capable of handling risk." Lysera settled across the fire from him. "Besides, I need to understand what you're capable of before I can teach you to direct it properly."
Marcus extended his consciousness outward as he'd learned to do. The Resonance-Inversion emerged naturally now, a pressure that built in his chest before radiating outward. It was like a frequency made visible—waves of pure will and dominance pushing against everything in his vicinity.
Lysera didn't move. Didn't flinch. Simply sat with her eyes closed while Marcus's power washed over her consciousness.
He could feel her resistance—not fighting him, but existing independently of his influence. It was like watching someone stand in a hurricane without being blown over. Not through strength but through understanding. She wasn't resisting the wind; she was flowing with it. Accepting its existence without allowing it to move her.
Marcus released the power, exhausted by the effort of maintaining it against her calm acceptance.
"That's the key," Lysera said quietly. "You're trying to dominate everything around you. But domination is exhausting. It requires constant effort. What you need to learn is collaboration instead."
"How do I collaborate with power that wants to control everything?"
"You separate the power from the intent." Lysera leaned forward. "The Resonance-Inversion is a frequency. A vibration. It's neither good nor bad—it simply is. The harm comes from your intention to impose it on others. If you separate the frequency from the intent to dominate, you can broadcast it without forcing compliance."
Marcus didn't understand.
Lysera gestured him to sit across the fire from her. "Try something. Don't try to dominate me. Just... let the power exist without pushing it at anyone. Like you're singing a note instead of screaming one."
It took him two hours to understand what she meant. Two hours of failing, of triggering the domination response despite trying not to, of forcing the power to express as something other than violent assertion of will.
But finally, something shifted. The power emerged, but differently. It was still his Resonance-Inversion, still the frequency that made creatures flee in terror. But instead of being broadcast as assault, it flowed outward like communication. Like a statement of presence rather than an attack.
Lysera opened her eyes. "There. That's the difference between power and corruption. Power expressed can be understood. Power imposed is only experienced as violation."
The training continued for two weeks.
Each day, Lysera worked with Marcus on separating the expression of power from the intent behind it. Each night, they sat around the fire while she told him stories about living in the Confluence for centuries. About loves she'd lost. About civilizations she'd watched rise and fall. About learning that survival required accepting loss as constant condition rather than exception.
"I've stopped expecting permanence," she told him one evening. "Everything I've cared about eventually ended. People died. Civilizations fell. Love became grief. And I realized that expecting permanence was the root of all suffering. Once I accepted that everything ends, I could actually appreciate things while they existed."
"That sounds like giving up," Marcus said.
"It's the opposite. Giving up is resigning yourself to loss before it happens. What I'm describing is appreciation without attachment to outcomes. Loving without needing the object of love to remain. Serving a community while understanding it might fall."
Marcus thought about Lily. About his growing attachment to her. About the certainty that something would inevitably be taken from him because that was the nature of this world.
"I can't do that," he said finally. "I can't separate my care from my need for permanence. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
"Then you'll suffer," Lysera said gently. "And that's all right. Suffering is the price of caring. The question is whether the caring is worth the price."
His breakthrough with the power came on day thirteen.
They were working in a valley filled with Rivenmaws—creatures that had proven impossible to control through normal dominance. Marcus had tried repeatedly to establish hierarchy through his Resonance-Inversion, but the pack was too organized. Too aware of each other's presence. Traditional dominance didn't work.
"Try collaboration instead," Lysera suggested. "Don't try to rule them. Try to communicate with them."
Marcus didn't know how to communicate with creatures. He broadcast his consciousness outward with the intention of connection rather than domination. Not trying to impose his will but trying to understand theirs.
The response was immediate and shocking.
The Rivenmaws didn't flee or attack. Instead, they approached cautiously, their predatory instincts warring with curiosity and recognition. Marcus felt their minds—alien and simple and complicated all at once. Felt their hunger and their territory and their pack hierarchy.
And for a moment, they existed together without conflict. Not ruled. Not hunters and hunted. Just consciousness acknowledging other consciousness across the boundary of species.
Then the moment fragmented, and the Rivenmaws returned to normal predator behavior.
But something had changed in Marcus. He understood now that his power didn't require domination. That Resonance-Inversion could be a bridge instead of a wall. That the frequency he broadcast could connect as easily as it could isolate.
"You understand now," Lysera said, watching from her position on a nearby rise. "Power is only a weapon if you choose to wield it as one. Otherwise, it's just an expression of self."
When they returned to Haven, something had shifted in Marcus fundamentally.
He was more controlled but also more dangerous. His power had developed nuance and complexity. He could broadcast dominance when needed, but he could also communicate. Could bridge consciousness without imposing will. Could exist in proximity to others without automatically triggering terror responses.
The leadership council noticed the change immediately.
"He's more integrated," Anya observed during a council meeting Marcus wasn't supposed to be aware of. "The cascade episodes have stopped. His presence is still strong, but it's directed now. Intentional."
"That doesn't make him less dangerous," Harren countered. "It makes him more dangerous. He's learning to hide what he is."
"Or learning to express it more effectively," Lysera said. "There's a difference."
But it was Father Thorne who understood what had really changed.
"He's found a reason to resist the corruption," the old priest said quietly. "The girl—Lily. She's giving him purpose beyond what the Weaver is pushing him toward. It won't save him ultimately, but it's buying us time."
Lily noticed the change too.
She ran to him when he returned to the workshop, throwing herself at him without hesitation. Marcus caught her automatically, picking her up and spinning her around—something he'd been too cautious to do before, afraid his power would spike and hurt her.
Now he could do it safely.
"You're different," Lily said when he set her down. "The scary thing is quieter."
"I learned how to control it better."
"No," Lily said with the certainty that only six-year-olds possessed. "You learned how to be it instead of fighting it. You're less scared now."
She was right. In learning to accept and direct his power rather than resist it, Marcus had found a kind of peace. Not comfort—never that. But acceptance. The understanding that transformation was happening and that fighting it was less useful than attempting to guide it.
He pulled Lily close and held her, and for a moment, the weight of what was coming seemed bearable.
For a moment.
The change in Marcus coincided with escalating reports from Haven's scouts.
Organized creature activity was increasing. More sophisticated. More coordinated. The signs of intelligent direction were becoming undeniable. Valerius's forces weren't just preparing—they were organizing. Getting ready for something specific. Something soon.
Harren brought the reports to the leadership council with grim certainty: "We have two weeks. Maybe three. Then they come."
Father Thorne called another community gathering. This time, the atmosphere was different. No longer fear mixed with hope but fear mixed with acceptance. These people had survived the apocalypse itself. They would survive this.
"We prepare," Anya announced. "We reinforce our barriers. We finalize our evacuation protocols. We ensure that everyone who can be protected will be protected."
She didn't say what everyone was thinking: that not everyone could be protected. That some people would die. That survival was never guaranteed.
But Marcus heard the unsaid part clearly. And somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he felt Lilith beginning to wake more fully from her patient waiting. Beginning to prepare for the moment when transformation would be complete and her instrument would finally be ready for use.
He had perhaps three weeks before that moment arrived.
He spent them with Lily. Teaching her more advanced control of her power. Watching her laugh. Listening to her simple wisdom about the world. Building memories that he suspected would be the last ones.
Because some part of him already knew what was coming. Knew that Lily would be the catalyst. Knew that her death would be the final breaking point that would complete his transformation into what Lilith had always intended.
But he didn't tell her that. Didn't warn her. Just loved her as completely as he could while the end approached with inexorable certainty.