The Price Of Strength.

A week had passed since his arrival at the school. The incident with the girl from the bathroom had left a lingering unease. She had lost her mind, driven to madness by the encounter, and was now under the academy's care.

Lucien was the only one who truly knew the extent of what had happened; her mind simply wasn't strong enough to bear the consequences.

Today was the day of the annual competition to determine the rankings of the first-year students, an event that had taken on added significance with the arrival of a new student.

The competition was to re-rank the first years and identify the students to provide resources to, those who show the most promise for a bright future and help the institution attain its former glory."

Lucien was not interested in the ranks,but he knew he needed those resources to grow back and maybe ahead of his former strength.

He strolled down the academy's long, echoing halls, a specific destination fixed in his mind: the library. The weight of his purpose pressed down on him—he needed to understand the intricacies of ore absorption, the strengths each beast offered, and, crucially, the potential drawbacks.

Each step resonated with the quiet urgency of his quest, the polished stone floor reflecting the flickering torchlight in a rhythmic dance. The air hung heavy with the scent of old parchment and forgotten lore, a fitting prelude to the knowledge he sought within the library's ancient walls. He imagined the dusty tomes, their pages filled with warnings and whispered tales of those who had dared to harness the power of the ores, some triumphant, others… tragically undone.

In Atheria , "ores" are not mere minerals, but potent magical crystals formed within the very hearts of the most formidable and intelligent beasts. These aren't your average goblins or slithering serpents; ores are exclusively harvested from creatures of significant power and cunning, predominantly those with humanoid forms. Think of them as the magical essence of a beast, solidified into a crystalline structure.

Each ore is unique, reflecting the very nature of the creature from which it was taken. A vampire, renowned for its breathtaking speed and uncanny vitality, yields an ore that pulses with crimson light, imbued with the same swiftness and life-force.

A werewolf's ore, conversely, might be a jagged, grey crystal radiating raw power and primal ferocity, mirroring the beast's strength and untamed nature. The color, shape, and even the temperature of the ore are all indicative of the creature's abilities and inherent magical properties. A griffin's ore might shimmer with golden light and possess an ethereal quality, reflecting its aerial grace and keen intellect.

These ores are not easily obtained. Hunting and slaying these powerful creatures is a perilous undertaking, reserved for the most skilled and daring adventurers. The ores themselves are highly sought after by alchemists, mages, and weapon-smiths, who use their unique properties to craft potent elixirs, enchantments, and weapons of extraordinary power. The rarity and potency of these ores make them incredibly valuable commodities in this dangerous world.

Absorbing ores grants power beyond the normal limits of one's realm, a shortcut to the peak of strength. However, this potent magic comes at a terrible cost. Centuries ago, humanity discovered the horrifying truth: while ores enhance weapons and spells with terrifying effectiveness, their consumption by living beings leads to a slow, agonizing erosion of humanity.

The process is insidious; emotions fade, replaced by a chilling apathy. Physical mutations become commonplace—an extra limb sprouting overnight, a vampire's fangs piercing the lips, bestial claws tearing through skin, wings erupting from the back. The very essence of what it means to be human is twisted and corrupted.

For centuries, alchemists and mages have striven to mitigate these effects, to find a way to harness the power of the ores without succumbing to their monstrous influence. But as of this very year, a complete solution remains elusive. The risk remains ever-present, a grim warning etched into the history of this world.

Therefore, a solemn warning: **Possession of an ore does not grant dominion over its power; it invites damnation.** Do not consume it.

The consequences are irreversible. Lucien, however, stands as an exception. His nature, already removed from the human condition, renders him immune to the ore's corrupting influence.

This is precisely why humanity, elves, and dwarves alike, overwhelmingly favor external applications of ore power. Their physiology, their very essence, is not designed to contain the volatile, corrupting energy within their bodies. To absorb an ore is to invite a slow, agonizing transformation, a descent into something less than human, less than elven, less than dwarven.

The risk of mutation and the loss of self are simply too great a price to pay for even the most tempting power. External applications—infusing weapons, empowering spells—allow them to harness the ore's strength without risking the catastrophic consequences of internal consumption.

And also to level up within their established systems of advancement. The structured paths of magical training, martial arts, and technological development offer a safer, more controlled route to increased power than the unpredictable and dangerous path of ore absorption.

These systems, honed over centuries, provide a framework for growth that avoids the horrific mutations and loss of self associated with consuming ores. They represent a commitment to disciplined progress, a stark contrast to the reckless gamble of internal ore consumption.

Lucien made his decision, his gaze settling on the obsidian black card—a memento from his former academy, a token of his standing with the Dean. With a decisive swipe, he purchased a werewolf ore and a centaur's ore.

The transaction, a staggering sum of 100,000 gelions, sent a ripple through the academy's digital currency system. A curt message concluded the exchange:

"Delivery via drone. See you."

The weight of his acquisitions settled upon him—two potent sources of power, each promising immense strength, but also carrying the potential for unforeseen consequences. The wait for the drone's arrival would be a tense one.

Lucien decided to burn off some of the nervous energy building within him. He headed for the academy gym, the rhythmic thud of his footsteps a counterpoint to the racing thoughts in his head.

He envisioned a scene of camaraderie, a simple workout session with some of the academy's professors—a chance to clear his mind and perhaps even glean some insights into the best way to approach his newly acquired ores. The weight of his purchases, and the potential they held, would have to wait. For now, it was push-ups and the familiar comfort of physical exertion.