Stop being so nervous

Anakin slapped his cheeks with his medium-sized hands as he stared at his reflection in his bedroom mirror. He ran his fingers through his slicked mahogany hair, and adjusted the high collar of his cotton white shirt, inspecting his appearance for the umpteenth time.

Even with his repeated attempts at dampening them, his nerves had hardly subsided, and they seemed dead set on wrecking his psyche. It was annoying, but he couldn’t help it. The outcome of tonight's ritual was too important.

The thought of it was enough to make his palms sweaty. Ten years of living as a scion of the Aldritch name had taught him many things, but chief among them was that if he wanted to have any hope of living a life less shitty than his last one, he needed to be able to use magic.

It was paramount; not just for his personal safety, but also for his future. The Aldritch name held a weight no non-practitioner could ever hope to bear, so a failure in today’s ritual would have dire consequences. The expectations forced on him as the eldest son of the Duke didn’t help either.

It was all because the family was so damn illustrious, more so than he’d ever imagined. In this part of Pruvia, they were almost immortalized, so the prospect of not being able to use magic would make him stand out like a beacon on a lighthouse.

He would become a target

Not just for the seemingly innumerable political rivals the family had, but also within the family itself. Powerful families were usually the ones with the fiercest of internal competition, that was something Anakin had watched enough television shows to know.

Being mediocre or without magic would completely screw him over. His dreams of inheriting the family’s estate would go up in smoke, his position within the family would hang by a thread, and his adorable little sister might see him in a different light.

He wouldn’t be her super big brother anymore.

“Tsk.” Anakin rubbed his eyes in annoyance. He didn’t know why— of all things— that bothered him, but it did. The girl had grown on him. Hell, the whole family had. For once he felt like he truly belonged somewhere, and the possibility of losing that was disconcerting.

He took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair a second time. At any rate, fretting about the hypothetical would do him no good. He couldn’t change —or influence— the outcome of the ritual anyways.

It was all up to lady luck, his dearest chum.

Trying to change the outcome of the Spark Ignition ritual was like trying to change the parents you were born to. It was impossible, and shared striking similarities to one big lottery— you either won big or lost big. There was no in between.

In Anakin’s case, winning big would either be acquiring the family’s iconic illusion magic, or his mother’s fate magic, or —if lady luck were infatuated with him— both. Both were extremely powerful forms of magic that, from his knowledge, were as rare as hen’s teeth.

Especially his mother’s fate magic. From all the books he’d read over the years, he’d long learned that it belonged to an obscure branch of magic called Dunamancy, and that it was something many coveted but only a select few ever had hope of using.

He still vividly remembered how a certain book defined it,

Dunamancy ~ An arcane discipline involving the study of time and fate, specifically for the purposes of its manipulation. Dunamancers are able to utilize aetheric energy to tap into the arcane forces that shape reality as we see it, and command the power of potentiality and actuality.

After reading that, he was unable to get it out of his head. An ability that powerful was mouth-watering, and he’d been fortunate enough to be born as the son of a dunamancer, meaning he had hope of being one of the select few.

Anakin subconsciously found himself in front of his bookshelf. He rummaged through its shelves, eyes scanning its length and width for a specific book. Soon, it was in his hands, and his breathing became a little hurried.

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An Inquiry into the Machinations of Spark Heredity by Elliot Cantrell

He swiftly pried the book open, breezing through its plentiful pages, and only coming to a stop when he’d reached the section he was looking for. He read a paragraph from it.

From all of my previous experimenting, I have arrived at the conclusion that the human Spark, and its associated properties, are indeed inherited traits, passed on from one generation to the next in accordance with the laws of probability…

Not what he was looking for. He flipped a page, and eyed another paragraph.

…The Spark’s natural inclination, or the form of magic to which it is inherently attuned to, is an especially interesting property to study. Though it follows probability laws with regards to its inheritance, it seems to do so rather sparingly, and with particularly interesting nuances….

A little closer, but not quite there yet. He flipped another page.

…Another nuance I’ve observed has to do with the inheritance of rarely-seen Sparks. Often of an abstract nature, they grant their holders control over extraordinarily powerful arcane forces that conceal the macrocosm’s deepest secrets. The probability of inheriting Sparks of this nature is significantly low, even amongst unique lineages who have it ingrained in their bloodline…

Bingo. He’d found it.

“So the odds of me getting any one of their magics are truly not in my favor.” Anakin mumbled to himself, feeling another round of fretting brewing.

Both the Aldritch family’s Illusion magic and his mother’s fate magic technically fell under Cantrell’s peculiar classification of Sparks. They were abstract, meaning that their manifestations had no tangible form.

Anakin closed the book and slid it back into his shelf, running his hands through his hair a third time. He leaned against a column of his four-poster bed, and crossed his arms, eyes boring holes into the wooden planks beneath him.

His mind raced as he calculated different outcomes in the event his Ignition ritual was not ideal. Per his father’s current plans for him, he was supposed to continue his education regardless of whatever his Spark turned out to be.

Since reincarnating, he’d been homeschooled but his father had been making plans to send him to some private academy for Pruvia’s aristocracy and wealthy elite to further his secondary education.

If the ritual turned out crummy, he assumed those plans would remain unchanged, so any plans would have to start from there. Anakin nibbled at his fingers.

Going to school was annoying, but it was something that couldn’t be changed, as the alternative—not going— would leave him worse off. Education was a mark of prestige and status in Pruvian society, and a high-ranking nobleman without any seemed like an incredibly thorny path.

Right, so he was going to school. But what about after that? Anakin rubbed his temples. After that, furthering his education at a university seemed the best option. He’d get a degree, presumably in some highly-valued field, then help out with the family businesses. Getting some work there should be relatively straightforward.

To sustain their ostentatious lifestyle, House Aldritch possessed an extensive list of business ventures across multiple industries. Chief amongst them was Aldritch Armaments , the family's monopoly on Pruvia’s arms industry.

Anakin reckoned obtaining work there would be his best bet. His father primarily worked there as its head mechanical engineer, so working alongside him could net him some favorability points. And he’d need all the damn points he could get if his ritual turned out paltry.

Anakin paced between the columns of his bed. Who was he kidding? He’d be killed before he could accomplish half those things. The competition in Pruvia’s aristocracy was cutthroat, and even with extensive protection, he didn’t see himself clocking a second decade unless he never left the manor.

I’m probably exaggerating things. Anakin rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers, annoyed that he was fretting again. It was something he wasn’t used to, and he hated how it made his world spin.

I just don’t want my second life to be a bust too.

Internally whining, he stopped in front of his bedroom mirror to inspect himself again, only to be brought back to reality by soft knocking in the direction of his door.

“Who is it?” He instinctively probed, his tone soft.

“It’s me, Young Master.” Anakin immediately recognized the voice, “His Grace sent for you. It’s time for your ceremony.”

Ceremony, huh.

Edward always called it that, and he wondered why.

“Understood.” Anakin said, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He triple-checked his appearance, ensuring it was tidy, then walked to his bedroom door. The soft glow of the moonlight bled through his window and stroked his face as he twisted its knob.

Here goes everything.