"Now," he said, his voice like gravel dragged through stone, "Let everything go, and try to feel it."
Oliver blinked. "Feel what exactly?"
"The Essence," Augustus said simply. "The thread that weaves through all things. The force that gives birth to mana, to life, to thought itself."
Oliver hesitated. "But… I thought mana was the foundation of power?"
"Mana," Augustus snorted, "is but a ripple on the surface. Essence is the ocean beneath." He motioned with his staff, a faint trail of blue mist spiralling around its tip. "Now quiet your thoughts, and listen. Not with your ears, not with your mind. With your being."
Oliver slowly sat cross-legged on the wooden floor. The air around him was thick and heavy; faint motes of light shimmered like dust caught in sunlight. He closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath, then letting it out. Again. And again.
For several minutes, there was only silence, the kind that stretched and swallowed sound itself.
He focused on his heartbeat, on the faint hum of the world around him. His mind reached out, seeking something, anything, that might answer his call.
But there was nothing. No warmth and no current. Just emptiness.
He furrowed his brows, forcing himself to try harder, to grasp at whatever invisible thing Augustus spoke of. His breathing grew ragged. His hands trembled slightly. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple.
Still, nothing came.
Minutes turned to nearly half an hour before he opened his eyes, defeated. "I… I don't feel anything," he admitted, his voice low, almost ashamed. "Despite trying my best, it's like reaching into air that isn't there."
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then—
"Pffft—HAHAHAH!" Augustus suddenly burst out laughing, the sound echoing harshly through the cabin.
Oliver flinched, irritation flashing across his face. Was this old man messing with him!? he didn't know how much of the old man's rumblings were true, but maybe he had believed his claims a bit too easily.
After all, as widely read as Oliver was, how come he hadn't heard of this 'essence'. He began to question if this mysterious energy even existed.
"If it were that easy, boy," Augustus wheezed between laughs, "the whole damn world would be wielding Essence! You think it's something you just grab because I told you to? Hah! Oh, this takes me back…" He wiped a tear from his eye, chuckling to himself.
Oliver glared. "So this was just some kind of joke?"
"No joke," Augustus said, straightening slightly. "A lesson. You mortals, are always in such a hurry, thinking power is something to be taken in a single breath."
Oliver snorted in derision, "Can you even use this, 'essence', old man?" Oliver asked seriously.
He sighed, the laughter fading. "I didn't even know about Essence until someone told me. And still, I couldn't sense it for a hundred years. A hundred! There were days I thought it was a lie meant to torment me."
Oliver's expression softened slightly, confusion mixing with disbelief. "A hundred years?"
"Yes," Augustus said, looking distant. "Until one day, in the midst of battle — when death itself clawed at my throat — I felt it. A spark. A whisper. After that, it took another century before I could properly wield it. And even now, I can't begin claim mastery, I can barely wield a sliver of it."
Oliver frowned. "But I don't have hundreds of years to learn some mystical force that may as well not exist. I need to get strong, fast." He declared.
The old man chuckled, his grin sharp and knowing. "Then you'll just have to do what no one else has done — learn faster."
"That's not helpful," Oliver muttered.
"Neither is giving up," Augustus shot back. "Essence doesn't reveal itself to those who chase it. It comes to those who endure. Who survive long enough to be worthy of it."
He rested a hand on his sword-staff's hilt, his tone softening just a little. "Mortals… burn brighter because they burn faster. That's your gift, and your curse. Trying to learn to wield essence, for your kind, will be a race against your own lifespan."
Augustus cocked his head, watching Oliver closely. "Why are you in such a hurry to get more powerful anyway?" he asked.
Oliver's jaw tightened. The faintest glint of rage flashed in his eyes. "For revenge," he said, the word tasting like iron. Almost immediately, he shook his head, as if surprised that he had spoken it aloud.
"Revenge?" Augustus repeated, probing him to say more. Oliver said nothing more; it was obvious he would rather not speak of the topic. What little he had said was nothing more than a slip of the tongue.
"Hmm." The old man studied him, then shrugged. "No matter." He paused, and the grin that followed was not wholly warm. "Maybe I simply need to beat you to the brink of death. Then perhaps you'll feel the thread that holds the world together a little bit quicker, after all, it was on the brink of death that I too, learned to feel essence. Bahahahahahaha!!!"
He laughed, long and loud, but there was no mockery in it. It rang as a bell struck in deep water. Oliver heard it and felt, with an odd certainty, that Augustus was not joking.
Augustus' eyes sharpened; the playful curl of his mouth dropped away. "If it's revenge that drives you," he said quietly, "then you already have a beginning. Anger can be a fire if you learn to use it instead of letting it burn you. But, be careful with channelling whatever emotion drives you, or it might drive you to madness."
The warning sounded almost eery, in the way he said it, by Oliver could see that Augustus meant every word he had said.
Oliver looked down at his hands, the faint calluses from training still visible. He clenched them. "So what do I do now?"
Augustus grinned, wicked and amused. "Now? You train. You break your limits until your body remembers what your soul has forgotten. And when you're too tired to move, you keep going."
He tapped the end of his staff against the ground. "Stand up, boy. You've failed your first lesson. That means you're ready for the second."
Oliver sighed, rising to his feet. "And what's the second lesson?"
A faint, almost mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Augustus's mouth. "Pain," he said simply. "Lots of it."
Oliver's hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
"But," Augustus rose, staff tapping the floor once. "Not today, though," he said. "Toda,y you will rest. Tomorrow, we begin."