Lin Mo didn't notice time passing—not at first.
His senses stretched, tingling, almost electric. Every subtle shift in energy made his chest tighten. A heartbeat skipped somewhere deep inside, a fraction too early. A faint taste of metal lingered at the back of his mouth. A shadow of a headache tugged at his temples, fleeting and ignored.
He flexed his fingers. A spark. Just a trace, but it was there. His fingers itched, restless. Something within him wanted more.
Wait… maybe too soon.
He shook his head. No. If he didn't push, he'd never know. A tiny tremor ran through his shoulder as if his body anticipated what was coming.
Absorption had always been instinct first, reasoning second. A presence had to be recognized, respected… then drawn in. But now, he wanted control.
Not warmth. Not life. Not the simple currents that came and went.
Structure.
The empty classroom buzzed quietly with residual energy. Not alive—not fully—but enough. Lin Mo felt it layered: tension in the beams, vibrations underfoot, the subtle attention left behind by the students who'd just gone. A hinge creaked. He flinched, then ignored it. A faint pulse ran along the back of his neck.
It called to him.
He inhaled sharply. A shiver ran down his spine. Fingers twitched. His heart skipped a beat—not fear, not excitement—but recognition. A flicker of doubt flashed and vanished before he could name it. A soft tingle grazed his scalp, almost like static brushing his skin.
He reached.
Subtle. Layered. Controlled. Sliding into him like water through cracks in stone. His stomach fluttered faintly, a wave of tension he didn't fully understand. A tiny ache bloomed in his wrist, barely noticeable, warning him to pay attention.
A small warmth settled in his chest. His heartbeat aligned for a fraction of a second, and he paused. That… was different.
He exhaled. "It works," he whispered. His voice cracked—not weak, but in disbelief. A tiny cough followed, swallowed by the quiet. His throat felt dry for a heartbeat, almost instinctively.
Testing came next. Not with people. Not yet.
A discarded book. A mechanical fan. A puddle of water on the floor. He touched, focused. The energy—latent, patient—slipped in. Not all at once. Not violently. Just enough to make that subtle "filling" sensation ripple through him, the way unfinished pieces aligned, even if briefly. A faint tingle ran along his spine as each piece settled.
A pattern.
Was it instinct guiding him, or the ability itself? Maybe both. A tremor ran through his fingers—anticipation or caution, he couldn't tell. A quick, involuntary blink followed, as if his body tried to reset itself.
A squeak from the door hinge made him flinch. Muscles tensed. Fingers twitched. His stomach clenched just enough to make him pause. Focus. A faint hair-raising sensation prickled at the back of his neck.
He reached again. The energy moved faster this time, slipping in cleaner. A thrill pulsed through him, crawling along his nerves. Not strong yet—but enough. Tiny sparks danced under his skin, almost imperceptible.
He could feel it. A subtle heat in his fingertips made him grin faintly, almost unconsciously. A faint flutter of his eyelids reminded him he was alive in more ways than one.
Minutes or hours passed. He couldn't say. Shadows stretched unevenly across the walls. Chalk dust tickled the back of his nose. A faint hum from the fluorescent lights made him pause for a fraction of a second. If this was the beginning… what came next?
A stir inside. A vibration. The faint echo of "levels." He remembered charts, class advancements whispered about in classrooms long abandoned. Energy had structure. Presence had hierarchy.
And he could climb it.
Lin Mo stretched, tiny shivers racing down his arms. Residual tension lingered in his chest; his heartbeat stumbled when he overreached. A twinge of dizziness passed for a heartbeat. A soft tremor ran along his spine, almost unnoticed. Not dangerous. Not yet.
Limits were there. Some things resisted. Some presences—powerful ones—would push back. A flicker of static in the air prickled his skin.
He licked his lips. Faint. Almost a whisper. "I'll learn you… all of you." His fingers twitched again, almost reflexively, as if the words themselves carried weight.
Something new lingered in the air. Structured. Layered. Controlled. Just out of reach. He didn't touch it—not yet. But he knew it mattered. A faint pulse echoed along his collarbone, an instinctive signal his mind couldn't fully explain.