The first true spending of Osmontian Biomass was a strange thing to feel.
Under the blue rain falling from the great tree, the mana drops breaking soft and cool against his face and the grass beside him, Noah lay back and gave the command inwardly. Five thousand. He felt the resource move inside him, that granular cerulean store he had been patiently gathering, and he watched it pour toward a single part of his foundation rather than scattering across all of him. It did not feel like swallowing a treasure. It felt like irrigation, like opening a channel and letting something accumulated run exactly where he aimed it, the Biomass draining out of his reserve and into THE Tide That Owes Nothing!
And the Foundation drank it, and rose.
