Chapter 22: The Everglow Core 2

I stared at the Everglow Core in front of me, its faint glow flickering like a dying ember. Energy loss was the problem, and I was tired of it. I'd tried everything—reinforcing the lattice, expanding the reservoir, even tweaking the feedback loop—but the mana always found a way to escape. This time, I was going to try something radical. Void energy.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the core in my hands. Void energy was tricky, volatile even on a good day, but it had one unique property: it could suspend things in a state of stasis. If I could use it to encase the mana, keep it trapped until I needed it, maybe the energy loss would stop. The idea was risky, but I was out of options.

I reached out with my ability, pulling a thin thread of void energy from the air. It was barely visible, a faint dark ripple in my palm. Carefully, I fed it into the core, weaving it through the lattice structure. The void energy slid into place like liquid shadow, wrapping around the mana and locking it in place. The core pulsed once, its glow steadying.

For a moment, it worked. The mana didn't leak, didn't dissipate into the air. It hung suspended, trapped in the void's grip. I couldn't help but grin—this was it. This was the breakthrough I'd been looking for.

But then the core began to hum, a low, ominous vibration that made my teeth ache. The void energy wasn't just suspending the mana; it was compressing it, squeezing it tighter and tighter. The core's glow intensified, sharpening into a blinding point of light. I could feel the pressure building, the energy straining against its prison.

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the core. Should I release it? Let the mana go before it overloaded? But if I did, all that energy would be wasted, and I'd be back to square one. No, I had to see this through.

I poured more void energy into the core, reinforcing the stasis field. The hum grew louder, the light brighter, but the mana stayed trapped. It was a delicate balance, teetering on the edge of collapse, but for now, it held.

The core stabilized, its hum settling into a low, rhythmic pulse. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Void energy had done the trick, trapping the mana without letting it slip away. But I wasn't done yet. Energy loss was only half the problem. What I needed was a way to keep the core self-sustaining, to make it replenish its own mana without me constantly feeding it.

I reached into the containment module at my side, pulling out a shard of Celestial Essence. It glowed faintly in my hand, a soft blue light that seemed to dance just beneath its surface. This wasn't just any energy—it was raw potential, a primal force that could transform into anything with the right push. If I could integrate it into the core, it could act as a perpetual source, feeding the mana reservoir as it depleted.

Carefully, I held the shard above the core. My fingers trembled slightly as I channeled a thread of Celestial Essence, guiding it into the lattice structure. The void energy resisted at first, its dark tendrils curling around the Essence as if to block it. But I adjusted the flow, threading the Essence through the gaps, weaving it into the fabric of the core.

The reaction was immediate. The core's glow shifted, the steady light now tinged with a faint blue hue. I could feel the Essence working, its energy seeping into the trapped mana, replenishing it as it was consumed. It was subtle, barely noticeable at first, but as I watched, the core began to maintain its charge on its own. It wasn't perfect—I could see the Essence being slowly consumed, its glow dimming over time—but it worked.

For now, that was enough. The core was self-sustaining, at least until the Celestial Essence ran out. I set it down on the workbench, watching it pulse steadily.

I leaned back in the chair, staring at the scorch marks on the workbench where the core had been just moments ago. The explosion had been sudden, violent, and loud enough to send a few stray tools clattering to the floor. My ears were still ringing, and my hands smelled faintly of burnt mana. Fragments of the core were scattered across the table, their once-bright glow now faded to dull gray.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to piece together what had gone wrong. The void energy had held the mana in place, and the Celestial Essence had kept the core self-sustaining—at least for a while. But the Essence had been consumed too quickly, the void energy compressing the mana tighter and tighter until the core couldn't handle the pressure anymore. It wasn't the Essence's fault, nor the void energy's. The problem was the core itself. The lattice structure couldn't handle the strain.

I picked up one of the shattered fragments, turning it over in my fingers. The lattice was too rigid, too inflexible to adapt to the stresses I was putting on it. Maybe I needed something more dynamic, a structure that could expand and contract as the energy levels fluctuated. Something that wouldn't crack under pressure.

I glanced at the containment module, where the remaining Celestial Essence shard sat, still glowing faintly. I needed a better core design, one that could handle the Essence without overloading.

I stared at the remnants of the shattered core, the pieces scattered across the workbench like broken glass. The solution was staring me in the face, but it would require a complete redesign. The rigid lattice structure had failed, unable to handle the pressure of the void energy and Celestial Essence working in tandem. What I needed was something flexible, something that could adapt to the energy fluctuations without breaking.

I grabbed a blank design slate from the corner of the workshop, its surface glowing faintly as it activated. My fingers danced over the surface, sketching out the basic framework of the new core. Instead of a static lattice, I decided to model it after a living organism—a network of interconnected nodes that could expand and contract based on the energy levels inside. Each node would act like a valve, opening and closing to regulate the flow of mana and void energy.

The key was the control mechanism. I needed something that could sense when the core was reaching its limit and shut down the flow of Celestial Essence before it overloaded. I sketched out a feedback loop that would monitor the core's expansion. When the core reached its maximum capacity, the loop would trigger a shutdown sequence, cutting off the Essence and preventing a catastrophic failure.

I paused, staring at the design. It felt right, but I needed to test it. I grabbed a fresh core from the supply shelf and began the meticulous process of reconstructing it according to the new blueprint. The nodes were tricky to arrange, requiring precise alignment to function properly. The feedback loop was even more challenging, requiring a delicate balance between the monitoring system and the Essence converter.

Once the new core was assembled, I held it in my hands, feeling its weight and steady pulse. The nodes were already shifting slightly, adjusting to the ambient mana in the room.

Its surface warm and pulsing faintly with a rhythmic glow. The nodes shifted subtly, like tiny gears in a living machine, adjusting to the ambient mana. This design was different—dynamic, alive in a way the rigid lattice had never been. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. This was the moment of truth.

I channeled a thread of void energy into the core, feeling the nodes expand and contract as the energy flowed through them. They gave way just enough to accommodate the void energy without resisting it, a perfect balance of flexibility and control. The feedback loop glowed faintly, monitoring the flow and ready to intervene if things went wrong. So far, so good.

Next, I reached for the Celestial Essence shard, its soft blue light casting shadows on the workbench. Carefully, I threaded the Essence into the core, weaving it through the nodes. The Essence flowed smoothly, its energy spreading through the network like water through roots. The nodes adjusted again, expanding slightly to accommodate the new energy source. Everything was holding together, and the core's glow was steady—no flickering, no signs of strain.

I stepped back, watching the core pulse rhythmically on the workbench. The nodes moved in harmony, expanding and contracting with each surge of energy. The feedback loop remained inactive, its glow steady and calm. The core wasn't just stable—it was thriving. The self-sustaining mechanism was working perfectly, the Celestial Essence replenishing the mana as it was consumed.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. This was it—the breakthrough I'd been chasing. The new design wasn't just functional; it was elegant. The core could handle the pressure, the energy fluctuations, everything I'd thrown at it. It was adaptable, resilient, and efficient.

I reached out to touch the core again, feeling the steady pulse of energy beneath my fingertips. The warmth was comforting, like the hum of a living thing. It hum softly in the room, almost musical in its rhythm. The void energy and Celestial Essence worked in perfect harmony, the nodes ensuring neither overwhelmed the other.

I set the core down carefully on the workbench, my mind already racing with possibilities. This design wasn't just a fix—it was a foundation. With this, I could push further, refine more, and maybe even tackle the next problem on the list. For now, though, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. This worked. I'd done it.