Controlling natural forces was never as simple as it sounded. It didn't matter how you moved—whether you moonwalked or leapt high, hoping the wind would carry you—the only forces acting from the waist down were the air and the ground. If Frank's theory was correct, he didn't need to rely on friction with the ground to hover. Instead, it was about manipulating the air above and the invisible forces that existed between air and earth. Yet those forces were intangible, elusive, and impossible to grasp directly. Drifting seemed unattainable—except in rare moments of meditative focus.
But Frank was not one to surrender easily. Even when reason told him drifting was impossible, he pushed forward, trying every trick he knew to bend the natural forces to his will. A warning burned in his mind: if he failed to master drifting, survival in this strange world would become unbearably difficult. Walking alone was exhausting, and each step carried the looming dread of a notification flashing before him saying:
[You have lost control of your leg.]
The message haunted him. He began to wonder what truly happened in those moments of loss. And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, the notification appeared again. Determined, Frank focused on the subtle shifts that accompanied the failure. At first, he noticed nothing. But his resolve was unshakable. He tried again, this time slipping into meditation to sharpen his awareness. That was when it happened—he sensed something, faint but real. A spark of excitement lit within him, and he smiled shyly, already wondering what the next step in his discovery would be.
After sharpening his awareness, Frank noticed a faint substance seeping from the floor around him. It resembled a gas, tinted purple like the atmosphere itself. What intrigued him was that, although the substance drifted downward, it never settled on the ground. At first, he assumed it behaved like a gas, but with closer attention he realized it was better described as plasma—neither fully gaseous nor liquid, existing in a state between. Normally, anything that descends must eventually rest or rise again, yet this purple matter did neither. Instead, it seemed as though the land itself rejected it.
On any ordinary day, witnessing the earth repel a substance would have left Frank uneasy, perhaps even grim. But this time he remained calm. He had seen the same purple aura surrounding many soul beings before. Though soul vampires carried a different hue, he was certain the phenomenon served the same purpose: enabling these beings to move effortlessly, drifting, gliding, and floating through the world.
Now that he had uncovered the final element—the substance that allowed other soul beings to drift and manipulate natural energy—it was finally his turn to attempt the same. Frank studied the strange energy around him and thought:
*It's what every soul being does, from the Weakest Soul Beings to the almighty Soul Vampires. How hard could it be? Even the frailest among them glide effortlessly. This should be a piece of cake—perhaps the easiest thing I've done since arriving in this god‑forsaken world.*
With confidence swelling inside him, Frank stepped forward into empty space—or at least, he tried to. His leg froze, rigid as stone, refusing to move. A somber expression crossed his face as he wondered why it didn't work for him the way it did for others.
Nothing in New Darkovia was ever simple or normal. Still, he refused to give up. With renewed resolve, he closed his eyes, entered a meditative state, and tried again. His awareness sharpened, his perception deepened, and this time, when he reached for the nearest space, he actually moved.
Frank's jubilation was immediate. He sprang into the air, convinced he had finally mastered the art of drifting. To him, magic seemed to be nothing more than belief, theory, and meditation. But as he unconsciously shifted about, a faint notification appeared before him:
[You have gained control of your leg]
The message struck him. Processing the clue, Frank muttered somberly, "That means…" A moment earlier, he had celebrated, thinking he was gliding like the soul beings. In truth, he had simply taken a step. His movement was not drifting—it was walking.
The realization hit hard. Wide‑eyed, he searched for traces of the purple substance but found none.
Instead, he discovered that he could walk again. Yet the knowledge brought no shine to his face. Instead of triumph, he felt a pang of disappointment. His theory had not been proven, and though he had regained something precious, it was not the victory he had imagined.
Frank tried what he believed was the true path forward: faith in himself, trust in his theory, and meditation. Each time he lost control of his leg and the purple substance appeared, he clung to the belief that persistence—repeating the same effort again and again—would eventually bring success. And though he was finally rewarded, the consequences weighed far heavier than the gain.
The physical toll was brutal. Every failed attempt to channel the purple substance left him collapsing face‑first onto the ground. The force he exerted on his waist to move his rooted leg was immense, and since his leg refused to budge, his body toppled forward, leaving him sprawled flat. It was as if the world mocked him, whispering that if he couldn't walk, he might as well crawl. With each fall, the impact grew harsher, until after five relentless days his bones rattled with every step.
The emotional burden was no lighter. Each failure pressed down on him like a weight, feeding negativity and self‑doubt. He labeled himself a failure, and the more he tried to rise, the heavier that invisible weight became.
Insecurity followed close behind. On the first day, Frank had found a secluded spot to practice drifting. But as the days passed, curious workers noticed his routine. They hid nearby, cackling as they watched him endure what they called "undue punishment." Though Frank never saw them, their whispers spread, turning him into a figure of ridicule. Even walking among other soul beings became a trial, shadowed by the sting of their laughter.
Yet amid all this, a single reward appeared—small, almost mocking in its irrelevance. A faint notification glowed before him:
[Your skill Meditation (E) has leveled up!]
Frank's expression said it all as he thought: *Is that all?* After ten Earth days—five Darkovian days—his only gain was a stronger meditation skill. So, on the sixth day, he resolved to change course. He would no longer settle for half‑measures. He would commit fully to drifting. After all, how could he have a skill he couldn't use? It had to be possible. He just had to find the way.