Chapter 5 - chapter 5

The heavy door to Silas's time dilation chamber closed behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. He was alone now, the buzz of anticipation from earlier replaced with the stillness of the chamber. The air felt thick and heavy, and a low hum vibrated through the walls, as though the very space itself was alive. Four months. A lifetime, yet just a blink. A world of opportunity and risk lay ahead, and Silas couldn't afford to waste a single moment.

He stood for a moment, letting the quiet settle over him. The chamber was blank, its walls a smooth, featureless surface. There was no sign of the strange, complex equipment he'd seen in the hall outside. No distractions. Just him and the work ahead.

Professor Higgs's words echoed in his mind: What you achieve in here could make or break your progress. He could already feel the pressure of that. His small core, the one that felt so fragile in the face of all his aspirations, pulsed within him. His energy was limited, far smaller than those around him. But this time, this chamber, would give him the opportunity to push himself past his limits.

The first few days were tough. The simple task of shaping energy into letters and symbols on the floor felt like an impossible mountain. At first, the energy would slip through his fingers like water, elusive and untouchable. When he finally managed to form a few shaky lines on the floor, it was a fleeting success, one that left him more exhausted than fulfilled.

The control required to form clear letters was brutal, but what wore him down more was the constant depletion of his energy reserves. His core, small as it was, didn't have the strength to keep up with the demands of training. Each time he used his energy to form a letter, it felt like it drained him for hours afterward.

By the end of the first week, Silas had made some progress, but he was already exhausted and frustrated. His core was small—so small it couldn't keep up with his ambitions. The energy drained too quickly. And still, his focus had been on shaping symbols, something that felt so simple compared to the ideas swirling in his head. There's got to be more, he thought, collapsing onto the ground, his breath shallow, his body drained.

He sat for a moment, allowing himself to recover, and that's when the revelation started to form. He wasn't just physically tired; he was mentally drained, too. He kept focusing on shaping energy into letters, but what if that wasn't enough? What if he could do more than that? What if the solution isn't just in controlling the energy, but in how my core handles it?

His gaze drifted down to his energy core, which pulsed faintly within him. He'd always thought of it as a small, fragile container, one that couldn't hold much, let alone allow him to create grand works of magic. But now, as his thoughts shifted, he began to see it differently.

The core wasn't just a vessel—it was a converter. His core was tiny, smaller than most, but that didn't mean it couldn't be more efficient. It wasn't about forcing more energy into it; it was about understanding how it processed what was already around him. He had always been so focused on filling his core up, thinking of it like a tank, but what if it didn't work like that?

He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. His energy was limited, yes, but it wasn't gone. It was simply being used too quickly, too inefficiently. What if he could tap into something more fundamental—something that didn't just rely on his core's capacity, but on its ability to convert ambient energy?

The idea struck him like lightning, and his mind raced with it. His core wasn't just a container for his energy. It was a processor—a very small, very fragile processor, but still a processor capable of converting energy from the world around him. Every piece of ambient energy, every flicker of power that floated around him, could be absorbed, broken down, and turned into something he could use—if he could make his core more efficient at the process.

That's when the next breakthrough came. He realized that his core didn't work alone. It had to break down the ambient energy at a microscopic level, converting it into something usable. It wasn't a simple absorption of power, but a series of cells, each one microscopic, that worked together to break the energy down. These cells were like tiny factories inside his core, each one taking small amounts of ambient energy and converting them into something more stable, usable.

He could almost see it now. His small core had these cells—hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of them, each working to absorb ambient energy, each performing its own little task of conversion. But because his core was so small, it didn't have the necessary number of cells to process energy efficiently. His energy reserves drained quickly because there simply weren't enough of these cells to keep up with the amount of energy he needed.

He stood up abruptly, his mind buzzing with this new understanding. If he could somehow create more of these cells—or at least harness them more effectively—he might be able to draw in and convert enough ambient energy to keep his reserves full. It wouldn't be easy, but it was possible.

His heart pounded in his chest as the full scope of the idea began to form. What if he could use his energy to create new cells, cells that could function like the ones in his core, to break down ambient energy at a faster rate? His core might be tiny, but he could augment it. He could create more microscopic cells to increase the efficiency of his conversion process.

Silas's first attempt was shaky. He focused, drawing energy from his core, and tried to direct it into forming tiny, spherical cells—each one filled with the energy-breaking properties he imagined. But they dissolved the instant they formed, their energy fading away before they could even take shape. The challenge wasn't just in creating them; it was in stabilizing them. The cells were too fragile. He had to find a way to make them more resilient, more permanent.

For hours, Silas worked tirelessly. He created tiny orbs of energy, each one about the size of a quarter, and coated them with his energy-breaking cells. He tried to hold them together, to stabilize them long enough for them to do their work. Each attempt left him exhausted, but his mind refused to give in. Every failure brought him closer to understanding the process.

Finally, after what felt like days of trial and error, Silas created three small, glowing orbs. Each orb pulsed faintly, its core surrounded by a delicate web of tiny cells that absorbed and processed ambient energy. He could feel the faintest trickle of energy being siphoned from the room around him as the orbs began their work.

It wasn't much—just a small, continuous flow of energy, but it was enough. Enough to keep him going. Enough to keep his core from burning out too quickly. Three orbs. That was all he could manage for now, but the realization that he could create them—and that they would replenish his energy as they absorbed ambient power—felt like a major breakthrough.

The strain of maintaining the orbs was overwhelming, and his body trembled with exhaustion as he focused on keeping them intact. But as he stood there, his energy slowly replenishing from the orbs, Silas couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. His core, so small and fragile, could now process energy more efficiently than he ever thought possible.

Three orbs. That was his limit for now. But it was a start. And with time, he would find a way to create more. He had learned how his core worked—how it converted ambient energy into usable power. He had discovered the microscopic cells at the heart of it all, and now he had a way to augment his core and sustain himself through the process.

Silas looked down at the three glowing orbs, each the size of a quarter, his heart still racing from the effort. They pulsed gently, drawing in ambient energy and replenishing his reserves with a steady flow. It was a fragile system, but it was his.

And he was just getting started.