The Solar Crucible at three in the morning was a place of profound, humming silence. The amber light of the day had been replaced by a deep, lunar silver that filtered through the quartz dome, casting long, sharp shadows across the training floor. The bronze pipes along the walls continued their low thrum, a constant reminder of the volcanic heart beating beneath the estate.
Vane sat cross-legged in the center of the hall. He was stripped to the waist, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat despite the dry mountain air. He wasn't moving. He wasn't practicing forms. He was simply breathing.
Every inhale drew in the high-density ambient mana of the Crucible. Every exhale pushed his own silver mana through his marrow in a tight, spiral circulation. He could feel the "fluid" state of his mana: the way it flowed like pressurized mercury through his veins. For weeks, this fluid had been hammering against the boundaries of his core, seeking a way to expand.
