The essence of the gem poured into her like a river under the rain—swift, unstoppable. It flooded her body in an instant, spreading through every corner of her being before flowing back toward her core, drawn there as if by gravity.
Élisa gasped softly. The pressure in her limbs eased, the fog clinging to her mind began to lift. Her muscles didn't exactly feel stronger, but the heaviness that clung to her spirit—especially when she used her psychic abilities—began to dissipate, thread by thread.
There was always a reason Élisa avoided lifting anything too heavy unless absolutely necessary. Psychokinesis demanded more than just will—it devoured her spiritual essence, and the mental fatigue it left behind could crush her focus like wet paper. Every movement of her floating lance, every projectile she hurled with her mind, every subtle tweak of matter came with a price she paid in clarity and control.
