Pain had accompanied Lucavion for long enough that he had learned to distinguish its dialects.
A torn muscle spoke differently from a cracked rib. Mana exhaustion carried a hollow heaviness that spread outward from the core, while damaged meridians burned along narrow paths beneath the flesh, sharp enough that following the pain almost allowed him to trace their route with a finger. What he felt now belonged somewhere between the latter two.
His core was under tension.
The Flame of Equinox sat deep within him, stable but burdened, feeding three manifestations while the chamber repeatedly twisted the mana surrounding them. Each time one sphere drifted, Lucavion corrected it. Each time its surface bent, he tightened it. When the formation compressed the surrounding mana, he pushed outward; when the pressure thinned, he supplied what the manifestation had lost.
Every answer began inside him.
That was the problem.
The chamber shifted again.
