The humid heat of the forest clung to the skin like a warm blanket, and the night sky seemed to sing with ancestral sounds—the lazy croaking of frogs, the rhythmic chirping of nocturnal birds, and, in the background, the serene roar of waterfalls cascading from the floating mountains like liquid veils in the dark. Embers crackled, sending sparks into the night, and the scent of roasted gorilla meat still lingered stubbornly in the air.
Glenn still didn't fully understand what was happening to him. It was as if his senses had been mutilated—not physically, but in a more subtle, internal way. The perception that was once multifaceted, capable of detecting gravitational fields and the electrical pulses of his surroundings, had been silenced. Now, only one presence answered: spatial energy.
It was as if, figuratively, out of five senses, only one remained functional. There was a clear sense of loss. A feeling of sensory amputation. But paradoxically, there was also clarity. A focus that had been impossible to reach before. As if the noise had finally stopped.
Silas leaned against a rock like it was a throne carved for his eternal rest, his red robe open at the chest, revealing skin as white and cracked as ancient porcelain. Without his usual cigarette—a rarity, like rain in a desert—he seemed strangely more lucid… which didn't mean, in any way, more gentle.
"Having two affinities has become the new status toy in Atlas," he began, half singing his words like someone complaining about an expensive dish served cold. "Strength, versatility, power… all that crap that makes teenagers think they're invincible. And then came the convenient myth: those with only one affinity are weak."
He laughed. "Gift-wrapped bullshit."
Glenn, his body aching and his eyes half-closed with exhaustion, merely turned his head toward the old man, attentive.
"Single-affinity mages are the real sculptors of energy," Silas went on, his voice soaked in irony disguised as wisdom. "They have to refine their power to the bone. No handy combos. No hiding flaws behind some elemental trick. Just the fist and the essence."
He took a long drink from his canteen, smacked his lips, and turned his bandaged gaze toward the flames. Even with his eyes covered in black cloth, it felt like he saw Glenn better than anyone else could.
"All because of the damned noise. Ever heard an orchestra where every musician plays a different song at the same time? That's what happens when you cultivate with multiple affinities. It's energetic cacophony. Your energy pathways scream, your core panics... and there you are, trying to hear a whisper in the middle of the chaos."
The words lingered in the air, blending with the sound of the waterfalls that, for a brief moment, seemed to fall silent in the weighty hush that followed.
"You see everything, kid," Silas concluded with a crooked grin. "But you don't see shit."
Glenn didn't reply. For the first time, he felt it. The spatial energy whispered. No gravitational roars. No electric thunder. A faint thread of silence danced before him… and it was like hearing the heartbeat of the universe.
Silas inhaled the silence as if it were smoke and, with a quiet, almost indifferent tone, let the next sentence fly like a throwing knife:
"There are far more cultivators stuck behind walls they can't cross because of dual affinities than you'd imagine, boy."
The sound of the waterfalls echoed in gentle waves, and the forest's warm heat seemed to sleep on the skin. Glenn, still covered in small cuts and throbbing muscles, kept his eyes fixed on the fire. Silas continued, lazily twirling the canteen in his hand:
"It's simple: the more paths you try to walk at the same time, the longer it takes to understand the obstacles. A mage with a single affinity faces a single dilemma when progressing. One with two… two dilemmas. And three?" Silas paused dramatically, that acidic smile dancing on his lips. "Well, three times the headache."
Glenn furrowed his brow, feeling a weight not born of physical exhaustion, but of something older, more intimate. Silas kept going, now vaguely pointing the canteen at him:
"Now analyze your situation carefully. Set aside the fact that you're a walking aberration, a sick prodigy who saturated two elements in six months… That may not happen again with the next stages. Especially with spatial."
Those words struck Glenn like nails. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning inward. For the first time, no distractions, no noise. And there, in the calm of the tropical night, surrounded by the natural symphony of crickets, birds, and the distant percussion of waterfalls, he began to understand.
'How many times did I think it was the lack of that element in the environment… that there simply wasn't enough electricity, or gravity… or spatiality…'
But now, with his senses isolated, he realized the scarcity might never have been in the world around him.
Maybe it was him.
It was like being in a room full of sounds, but with cotton stuffed in your ears. The noise from the other affinities drowned out the more delicate signals. He remembered how electricity felt—vibrant, pulsing, alive.
Gravity—dense, solid, like a pressure hanging in the air.
And spatial energy… well, it never felt "strong." He always assumed it was rare, timid. But now he saw the obvious:
'I can't feel it properly because my whole body screams in other tones.'
Except, of course, for the times he'd been inside a dungeon or within his ring. Which made perfect sense, considering a dungeon was a spatial rift leading somewhere else, and as for his ring… no explanation needed.
He began categorizing, instinctively.
Electricity: like thunder in a summer storm.
Gravity: like tectonic plates shifting beneath the feet.
And spatial? A near-silent whisper in the void, a mist that escaped touch—not because it was weak… but because he had never learned how to listen to it.
Like trying to smell perfume during a wildfire.
That was it. Spatial energy had been there the entire time, but muffled by the vibrant screams of the other two.
Silas watched in silence. And even without seeing—his eyes hidden behind that charcoal-black cloth—it felt as though he could witness the storm swirling inside the boy.
"You're starting to get it, aren't you?" he finally asked, with a smile that had not an ounce of kindness.
Glenn nodded, wordless. For the first time, listening to the right kind of silence.
Silas snapped his fingers again, the dry sound lost amid the muffled hoots of owls and the distant roar of the falls. The old man approached slowly, hands clasped behind his crimson imperial robe, and crouched as if about to whisper a life-or-death secret.
"Listen up, you damn prodigy," he said in that acidic tone that seemed to carry the weight of centuries of wisdom and zero patience, "your training here is not to absorb spatial energy. Not yet. Your training is to learn how to listen."
Glenn blinked. "Listen?"
Silas pointed his bony finger right between the boy's eyes.
"Listen, perceive, isolate. This whole valley sings of gravity. A seductive song, deep, like the snore of a sleeping giant. You feel it, don't you? That damn force trying to seep into every one of your pores? Good. Now try ignoring it. Try hearing only the timid harp of spatial energy in the middle of this symphonic hell."
Glenn swallowed hard, still half in disbelief. Silas continued, circling him like a trained vulture:
"You're going to have to learn how to hear all three. But also how to hear only one. Like isolating the sound of a single violin in a raging orchestra. Because if you don't learn this, kid, every time you find yourself in this same situation—just one energy short of saturating your core your progress will move at a snail's pace. And in a few years, no one will even remember your name. Just like so many before you."
Silas took a dramatic step back and pointed to the ground beside the now-dying fire.
"Now put your butt on the ground. In lotus position, flower, root, or whatever other vegetable shape you can manage."
Glenn hesitated as he started to settle on the ground. But Silas wasn't done yet.
"And start listening before I invite another one of your banana-eating friends for a midnight visit."
Glenn froze. His mind instantly conjured the image of the spiny gorilla from earlier that afternoon—its bared teeth and glowing eyes.
"...Alright," he muttered quickly, sitting down, "message received."
"Excellent," Silas replied.
After long minutes of silence broken only by the crackling of wood and the distant murmur of the waterfalls, Glenn half-opened his eyes.
He turned his head slightly, glancing toward the old man, who was slowly swaying in a hammock, a lit cigarette between his lips and his gaze seemingly lost among the stars.
"...Why are you doing this for me?"
Silas let out a deep sigh. Not from physical exhaustion, but the kind of exhale that carries the weight of too many memories.
"Kid... my eyes are spent. They're going to go out soon. But even blind, they see more than a lot of bastards out there with glowing pupils."
He removed the cigarette from his mouth and pointed it vaguely toward the night sky, as if outlining forgotten constellations.
"You're mistaken if you think we do this out of heroism or some personal debt. The truth is… if the new generation can't at least reach the place where we old, wrinkled fools managed to stand… then everything's going to collapse. Atlas, the empires, the races, everything."
Glenn remained quiet.
Silas turned slightly in the hammock, angling himself as if to better see the boy by the firelight.
"Contrary to what you might think, the empires... they value young people. You're unstable, inexperienced, and a bit dumb but still, you're the uncertain present and the honest future of every race. One day, you're going to inherit all of this."
He made a broad gesture with his arm, encompassing the forest, the stars, the blood, and the chaos.
"So someone has to make sure at least a few of you are ready to carry this crap on your backs."
Glenn didn't say anything for a moment. But for the first time in a long while, he felt a sincere respect growing for that grumpy, bandage-wearing old man.
Silas took another drag of his cigarette and muttered:
"And also because I like watching you suffer. It's funny."
The thought vanished from Glenn's mind as quickly as it came.