Adgar thumped the circular platform with his right foot, and it immediately trembled, causing a plethora of runic etchings to emerge around it, each glowing several colors all at once.

“Sit.” Adgar ordered, and Anakin immediately dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged and stifling his growing sense of unease.

Adgar took a deep breath, clearing his mind, and sensing the abundant aether burbling around the circular platform. He reached out with a palm, and began to churn it, increasing its flow rate and concentrating the resulting vortex’s eye at the platform's center.

“Calm yourself.” He instructed his son, noticing his slightly erratic breathing. “Close your eyes too. Focus on nothing but your breathing. Forget everything else.”

Anakin did as he was told, steadying his breathing and drowning his awareness of his periphery. For some reason it was easy— a little too easy— and he could faintly hear the thrumming of his own lungs, as if he were using a stethoscope on himself.

His soul is still stable, Adgar peered beyond Anakin’s physical body, noting that specific detail. That was already a good sign. A stable soul at this aether density meant his Spark was sturdy and not mediocre. Probably at least Eminent-grade in quality.

Let's test your limits. In the twinkling of an eye, Adgar revved the aether vortex, drastically increasing its flow rate and size. The water in the basin around the platform began to sway back and forth. The winds were in motion.

All the while Anakin felt abnormally relaxed, as if he was receiving a massage from some divine entity. His thoughts became slow, and gradually his senses dulled— to the point he became unaware of his own location.

Still stable? How Interesting. Adgar’s eyes glittered as he turned the aether density up several notches. He’d just crossed the threshold for a Prodigious-grade Spark, yet his son’s soul wasn’t showing any sign of disturbance.

It was especially interesting since he’d ignited a Prodigious-grade Spark during his own ritual. House Aldritch hadn’t seen that for three hundred years, and that said a lot.

Increasing the aether density anymore would mean entering the territory of the legendary white-cored ‘Supreme-grade’ Spark, and that…that would be…extraordinary. House Aldritch hadn’t seen one of those in nearly a thousand years.

Adgar couldn’t stop the grin crawling its way across his face. A white-cored Spark was one of the best things a practitioner could ever ask for. His son was poised for greatness. This outcome was way beyond his expectations.

Pride surged through his veins and for a moment, his concentration on spinning the aetheric energy lapsed.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. His eyes re-focused, and the next moment, the aetheric density levels skyrocketed; to the point where the winds were now propelling the water around them in a swirling column.

Aetheric density levels became so thick the air began to distort, and a drop of sweat started to trickle down Adgar’s nose. He scrunched his eyebrows, concerned.

His son’s soul was still yet to show any signs of disturbance.

He definitely had a white-cored Spark. But at what density level would his Spark finally decide to awaken? There was a limit to how much he could keep the chaotic aetheric energy under his boot.

He didn’t think it would get to that point—as that would be ridiculous— but it still made his mind run.

The air’s distortion deepened.

Just when Adgar was starting to debate taking forceful actions, he sensed a ripple. At first, it was faint, but gradually it began to spread across his son’s soul, causing it to resonate with the universe’s breath.

It’s time. Let’s ignite it on the count of three…

One. The runic etchings carved along the circular platform started to glimmer brightly, obscuring Adgar’s vision a bit.

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Two. The winds suddenly became several times more aggressive, launching splashes of water everywhere, and causing his mahogany hair to flutter vertically.

Three. His pupils suddenly glowed a bright blue, and his thoughts concentrated on a single word, willing it into existence.

Ignite

Aetheric energy frantically flooded Anakin’s soul, as the vortex collapsed on him. Anakin—who’d been caged in a trance— saw a flicker of light, before he felt his consciousness get tugged away from reality.

He found himself floating in front of a gigantic spherical rock. It was easily five times his size, and the entire thing was dark. Suddenly, however, cracks began to trickle across its surface, and within three breaths the entire thing started glowing in a radiant golden-orange tinge. He noticed something white at its center.

“Fascinating”. He muttered, instinctively recognizing it to be his Spark, before his heart dropped a moment later.

Its color was not his father’s silver so half his big lottery win was chalked. Though, he still had hope. He didn’t know what the color of a Spark inherently attuned to Fate magic was. Things were not over yet.

He looked around himself. Everywhere else was bleak, completely engulfed in pitch-black darkness.

He tilted his head to the side slightly when he noticed that he could somehow sense that he was within a confined space, with its specific dimensions as clear as day.

“How wide is it?” His head jerked in multiple directions wondering where his father’s voice was coming from, and he found nothing.

“Ten meters.” He then replied. It was the distance between his Spark and the furthest point he could sense.

Adgar immediately cocked a brow. Ten meters? That couldn’t be right.

“Are you sure?” He voiced his skepticism.

“Yes.” Anakin replied, eyes closed in the dark space. “I sense ten meters. That’s the number appearing in my head.”

Simply Outlandish… Adgar nearly choked on his saliva hearing his response. It was double the known maximum for any nascent magic practitioner. Just how outrageously gifted was his son?

He lifted his head to visualize the Spark manifestation floating heavenward. In truth he didn’t know what was more baffling— the size of his son’s Spark Expanse or his natural attunement. Both were equally astounding.

Surrounding the blazing golden-orange Spark were gigantic droplets of water, all suspended in mid-air as if they had always been fixed in that position. As if the time around them had been stopped.

The boy was destined to be a Dunamancer, just like his mother. But his talent, unlike her, lay in its second field— Time. It was an attunement several times more scarce than Fate. If he remembered correctly, The First Domain had only seen a handful of them.

Adgar rubbed his nose, internally drawing up plans for his son’s magical education. A Time Spark was not something House Aldritch could cultivate properly—it was outside their specialty, and they had hardly any manuscripts or records about it.

If his son were to undergo adequate instruction in Dunamancy, he’d have to be sent to his mother’s family as nearly half of all The First Domain’s known Dunamancers came from there. Fate magic ran in their blood.

There were several problems with that, though. For one, the Di Fazio family and the Aldritch were age-old rivals. Their relationship—if he could even call it that— was non-existent, and him putting a bullet in the head of a prominent member of their first circle some fifteen years ago shattered any prospect of restoring cordial relations.

If they knew that he’d married— and had two children with— the niece of their family head, there might have been a sliver of hope, but that wasn’t possible. Unless he’d manage to convince her, Vittoria wouldn’t allow it.

Adgar rubbed his temples. It would have been ideal if Vittoria herself could instruct Arlo in Dumanancy, but she couldn’t because she had next to no experience in that area. Her specialty was Fate magic, and—

Adgar’s brows creased in the blink of an eye, noticing a sudden change. He lifted his head to view his son’s Spark manifestation, and his eyes immediately narrowed.

Greenish-red fissures started emerging across its surface, each erupting with an ominous aura. They kept expanding, with aura becoming increasingly noxious, and Adgar started to hear whispers all around him, each one subtly attacking his psyche.

What the fuck?! Anakin on the other hand was suddenly drowned in pain so great, he feared his vocal cords would burst if he dared to wail in anguish. His mind felt as if it was ripped apart in several directions, and within moments he found his world darkening.

Several drops of sweat trickled down Adgar’s forehead as he forcefully dissipated his son’s Spark manifestation, held the unconscious boy in his arms, and dispersed the sinister aura from his soul, where it was originating from.

He blinked several times, a multitude of questions assaulting his mind, as he tried to process why the hell the same aura Mr. Howlett emitted upon his death was oozing out of his son’s soul. He was so nonplussed he found it hard to think straight.

Slowly his lips began to quiver uncontrollably, with one word parading itself within his mind.

The Eldritch…