Powerful people. People with devastating presences. All of these people could become shamans.
But what happened when they did? What happened when a person that was already extraordinary, gifted with superior senses or trained in the highest forms of magic, underwent the transformation?
Until today, Yu had thought shamans did nothing but healing. That they submitted their old selves for the knowledge to mend and to soothe. That had been what he believed, though mainly because there was a shaman with the Mausoleum wizard, helping with treatments, as far as rumours reached. But the 
, speaking through the guild shaman’s voice, had told him otherwise. Every transformation was different. The outcome depended not on the ritual, but on the person.
So then, did people just keep their original abilities? Did they develop? Did they grow sharper, stronger? If shamanhood did not demand an exchange of skills, a sacrifice of one self for another, if it did not strip but preserve, if it did not consume but cultivate, then why did not everyone seek it? Why would anyone remain as they were, if the transformation could change their body just how they wanted it to be, even regrowing — even restoring what had been lost, or granting what had never been given at birth? What was the downside of it, if it gave power without taking?
If this is how it worked, then … had the just been …
… a very powerful person, before?
Had Yu simply … overreacted? Was the terror and awe he had felt just a natural reaction to someone of her standing and power, to someone of royal magnitude who had, perhaps over decades, cultivated exceptional abilities and then kept them when entering shamanhood?
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