The boy exhaled slowly, then gave a slow, honest nod. "Your days are numbered," he said bluntly, holding nothing back. "Not in the sense that you'll drop dead tomorrow, but your soul… it's barely holding your body together. The balance is broken. Your Yang Soul is doing all the work, but it's fraying, hanging by a thread. If your power keeps growing like this… the day will come when it simply collapses, and when it does, you'll die. Not from a wound, not from age, but because your soul won't be able to contain your existence."
Max's brows furrowed, his jaw tight. "I know that much already. I didn't come here for a death sentence—I came here to find out if there's a cure."
The boy paused, then let out a reluctant sigh and shook his head. "I'd love to help. Really. Especially if you were sent here by the elf race. But... I can't. Not with what I know, not with what I'm capable of." The honesty in his tone was painful.
