Ascension of the Forsaken Genius

Sylas had learned patience. Pure energy was unlike any other—it was scarce, elusive, and defied conventional methods of absorption. But after months of careful experimentation, he had begun to understand it.

He sat cross-legged in his secret training spot, an abandoned storeroom within the estate. Dust hung thick in the air, illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight slipping through cracks in the wooden walls. He controlled his breathing, slowing his heart rate until even his thoughts seemed to drift into silence.

The energy was there. Always there. A faint shimmer in the void of his perception. It did not pulse like fire, did not swirl like wind, nor surge like water—it simply existed. Unmoving. Passive.

Tonight, he would try something different. Instead of merely allowing it to drift toward him, he would attempt to guide it.

He focused, calling the energy with his mind, not with force, but with intent. He imagined it sinking into him, threading into his flesh, integrating with his very being. And then—

A flicker.

The sensation was faint but distinct. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Where fire brought warmth and wind carried lightness, pure energy was… neutral. It was neither hot nor cold, neither sharp nor soft. It simply *was*.

Encouraged, he maintained his focus. More wisps of energy trickled into him. They were delicate, weightless threads weaving into his existence. His body tensed as he attempted to hold onto them, but the moment he lost concentration, they dispersed like mist under the morning sun.

He exhaled in frustration. It’s not enough.

Days turned into weeks, and Sylas refined his control. He learned not to grip the energy too tightly, nor let it slip away too easily. It was a delicate balance, a dance between effort and surrender. And slowly, ever so slowly, he improved.

He observed his brothers during their training sessions, watching how they channeled their respective energies with ease. His eldest brother could summon flames at will, a younger sibling could bend the wind to his command, yet Sylas remained an anomaly. His affinity for pure energy was viewed as useless, and he dared not reveal his secret training.@@novelbin@@

The isolation was suffocating, but he welcomed it. Every failure only strengthened his resolve. He refused to be powerless.

One night, as he meditated in absolute stillness, something changed.

For the first time, he felt the energy linger within him. It remained—not fleeting, not momentary, but sustained. It coursed faintly through his limbs, a steady hum beneath his skin. A shiver ran down his spine. He had done it.

His first true breakthrough.

The realization sent a thrill through him, but he did not allow excitement to disrupt his focus. He needed to test its limits. He tried directing the energy through his fingers, willing it to move. It resisted at first, but then, with a subtle shift in his mental approach, it obeyed.

His fingertips tingled, a faint glow dancing across them before vanishing.

Sylas’s breath hitched. He had done more than just absorb it. He had moved it.

A triumphant smile crept onto his lips. He had taken another step forward on his path, even if the world refused to acknowledge it.

But his journey was far from over. If he could hold the energy, then the next challenge awaited him—learning to circulate it.

It would take months, maybe even years, but Sylas had all the time in the world.