This is not some precautionary myth we tell children by the campfire, Sol. even though incredibly rare, it has happened countless times in our tribe's history.
Proud, arrogant geniuses who by luck got rapid essence catalysts and relied on them without properly building a foundation... every single one of them suffered total spirit-backlash, dying in screaming agony as their own spirits devoured their souls."
Veylara placed her hand firmly on Sol's shoulder, her deep blue eyes filled with genuine, protective concern.
"To continue forward, Sol," Veylara said softly. "You must slow down. You must stop trying to force the next door open with brute violence. Go back to the very basics of your essence.
Meditate. Run with your spirit. Train with it, hunt with it and allow your blood and their phantom forms to slowly, naturally weave together until there is no separation between your intent and their power.
