Seisyll cursed under his breath, sweat beading on his temple as the spell fizzled once again. The rocky ground beneath his feet stubbornly refused to shift, no matter how much he concentrated. "It's no use." He muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "The beastcore's magic doesn't align with earth. I can't seem to channel it properly."
Beastcores and mageroot were worlds apart in terms of magic casting, Seisyll was still relying on how masterfully he was using his emotions rather than his survival instinct.
Arthur observed quietly, arms crossed, his cyan eyes calm but probing. "Then we'll fly south another way." He suggested.
Seisyll froze, understanding the unspoken meaning. His reluctance was palpable as he looked at Arthur, his lips twitching as if forming words he couldn't bring himself to say. "No, my King. You… you shouldn't transform."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And why not? It's efficient, isn't it?"
