"That's all nice and flashy," Aerwyna said, "but isn't that a little too advanced?"
A second ago, Reitz stood in the middle of the nursery, fist out, a sword of fire screaming from his hand.
Now the [Flame Sabre] was gone.
Aerwyna stood between him and the crib, arms folded, parchment rolled tight in one hand like a baton. Her blue-violet eyes narrowed.
"Too advanced?" Reitz repeated incredulously. "I showed him the basics."
"You skipped half of them," Aerwyna shot back. "Did you even explain how casting works? The stages? Invocation? Why some people are stuck with a single element their entire lives while others open to three, four?"
Reitz opened his mouth. Closed it.
Then he frowned at her like she'd accused him of treason.
"I can answer those questions," he protested. "Why are you trying to make me look like a fool in front of our son?"
Ezra's gaze flicked between them.
I'm not judging. Just—please don't stop explaining because of your pride. This is the first coherent system anyone's offered me.
Aerwyna jabbed the rolled parchment at Reitz's chest. It thumped once against leather.
"I told you to start from the very basics," she said. "If you only show off, he will imitate you and blow his arm off. How do you expect Ezra to advance his magic if he doesn't even know how his aura becomes a spell?"
Reitz drew a breath, then let it go slow, resigned.
"Fine," he muttered.
He dragged the heavy chair closer and dropped into it. The wood creaked under his weight. His easy grin faded, replaced by something steadier—still Reitz, still loud in presence, but focused.
He turned back to the crib.
"Listen well, Ezra," he said, and his voice took on a faint edge of ceremony. "Your mother likes when things are explained in order."
Reitz tapped his chest with two fingers.
"First—the nature of your magic aura. The feel of your Field." He paused, watching Ezra. "It's tied to what element you're best at. Fire, Water, Earth, Air. That part you already heard."
Ezra nodded.
"As you train," Reitz continued, "your Field changes. It deepens. It settles into a rhythm. We call that getting into harmony with your element."
Harmony.
Ezra stared at Reitz blankly. He was trying to decipher the concept; maybe it meant something different.
"When your Field and your element's nature line up," Reitz said, "it stops fighting you. That's when you stop straining to throw a single flame and start asking how much you can burn without collapsing."
"So," Aerwyna cut in, smooth, "those who are in deeper harmony with one element can start to touch the others."
Reitz's mouth twisted in reluctant concession. "That's what we were taught, at least. Once your Field is strong and steady, you can force it into forms that don't match its favorite element. Fire mages can learn to move earth, earth mages can learn to stiffen air, and so on."
He paused. His expression tightened.
"And at the very top," he went on, "Primarchs can reach into all four. Not cleanly, not cheaply—most of them have one or two elements that answer like blood, and one that answers like a stubborn mule—but they can shape all four."
His eyes slid to the window. Past the keep. Past the courtyard.
"And the Rex Imperia," he added quietly, "is the only one who has ever reached full harmony with all four. That is why he is Emperor."
Something in Reitz's voice drew tight and cold.
Resonance, Ezra thought. Your Field has a natural mode. You can tune it into others if you push far enough.
He wanted to ask why four, why those four. Instead, he stayed quiet.
"Second," Reitz said, exhaling as he shifted from worldview into procedure, "there are the Four Stages of Casting. I forgot to name them earlier."
He glanced at Aerwyna and winced. "My mistake."
Aerwyna nodded, satisfied. "Now you're talking like a Maester."
"First stage: Condensation. Second: Invocation. Third: Accumulation. Fourth: Activation," he said, counting each on a finger.
"Maesters like to map your control onto Circles," he continued. "Not as rank, but as how much pattern you can hold steady at once. Every spell, from a flicker of light to a Primarch's battlefield storm, follows these steps. The difference is speed and scale."
He held up his hand so Ezra could see each finger.
"Condensation," Reitz said, touching his thumb, "is when you gather your Field. You draw your aura in from wherever it's spread through your body and stack it where you need it."
He tapped his forearm, then his hand.
"If you're casting from the hand, you condense here. If you're casting from the eyes, you condense there. Most novices waste half their aura before the spell even forms. Two sparks and they're wheezing."
Ezra remembered how Reitz had pressed his Field into his chest—how Ezra's own power had bunched up in response.
Gather fuel.
"Invocation," Reitz went on, raising his index finger, "is calling the spell together. It's when you chant and visualize what you want the magic to do."
Ezra narrowed his eyes.
He understood chant now: the formal phrases, the cadence that pulled structure into place. Words still felt like the wrong mechanism, but the results kept proving him wrong.
"During Invocation," Aerwyna said, sliding in without breaking his rhythm, "you draw the Field toward the shape you want. You don't just stuff it in one place and hope—your chant and your visualization tell it what kind of spell it should become."
Instruction set, Ezra thought. Encoding. Pattern loaded, then impressed onto the Field.
"Third stage: Accumulation," Reitz said, lifting his middle finger. His voice lowered. "This is the tricky one."
He leaned back. His eyes went unfocused for a heartbeat.
"There's a heartbeat," he said, "after you've gathered your Field and aligned it with the chant—where you hold it. A fraction of a breath."
He snapped his fingers.
"That's when you decide how much power you push through. Range, thickness, intensity."
He looked at Ezra.
"Most people leak half their magic here," Reitz continued. "It shakes, it slips, it breaks. All that careful Condensation runs out into your limbs again. That's why there are mages who can chant for minutes and produce a spark, while others murmur once and level walls."
He jerked his chin at Aerwyna's parchment.
"And don't let the words fool you. A chant isn't the spell. It's a rail for the mind—a way to hold the pattern steady until you can do it without speaking."
"Magic Control," Aerwyna added. "That is what Maesters call it. The ability to Accumulate without losing what you Condensed. The better your control, the less you waste."
"That is also the same skill you use when you strengthen your body."
Ezra latched onto that.
External spells and internal reinforcement share a base mechanism.
"And lastly," Reitz said, touching his ring finger, "Activation. You open the gate. You let the Field do what you just told it to do."
He mimed flicking something forward.
"If you did it right, the spell appears. If you did it wrong…" His grin returned. "You set your own hair on fire."
Aerwyna smacked him with the parchment again.
"Or you overdraw," she said, sharp enough to kill the humor. "And your channels scar, and you never cast again. Don't joke about that, Reitz."
He raised both hands. "Fine, fine. No hair jokes."
His gaze returned to Ezra, softer.
"Did you get that, my boy? Condense. Invoke. Accumulate. Activate."
Ezra mapped it.
Fuel in. Load instructions. Hold charge. Discharge.
A spell was basically a capacitor you could aim.
"The hardest part," Reitz said, "is doing Condensation and Invocation at the same time. Holding the Field in place and chanting. That's where most Awakened children stumble. They can gather power, but their mind is still muddy."
His tone stayed casual. The words didn't.
"They trip, and their Awakening blows up half the house."
He said it like an old joke.
Aerwyna didn't laugh. Her expression tightened around the eyes.
"Especially Hydromancers," Reitz added, glancing at her. "I've heard the first stage gives you trouble. Is that true, Wyn?"
"Hmp," she sniffed, and Ezra caught a thread of reluctant amusement. "We work with volume, not sparks. Of course it is harder to move a lake than a candle flame."
"We still don't know exactly what happened with you," Aerwyna murmured, gaze softening as she looked at Ezra. "You never had an outburst. No flooded rooms. No scorched cots. You just… woke up."
Her eyes held a tired fondness.
"That is also why we can't wait," she said, fear plain in her voice. "If you had a normal Awakening, we could say 'it is done' and leave you to grow. But you slipped past it somehow. You are already moving your Field, already controlling your body. If we don't guide you, your first real outburst might come when we are not ready."
Reitz nodded, sober.
"That's why we test today," he said quietly. "To see what you're carrying."
He pushed himself up from the chair and stood. His weight shift and the way his Field tightened made the nursery feel smaller.
"First," he said, "range."
He looked at Ezra like Ezra stood on a training yard instead of propped on pillows.
"Ezra, I want you to expand your Field as far as you can. Don't force it. Just… stretch."
Ezra understood.
That hyper-real state came in fits—the room sharpening, the air thickening, thoughts turning crisp.
He exhaled out of habit and sank inward.
Body noise fell away. Heartbeat. Breath. Beneath his sternum, that other pulse—presence instead of blood.
He unleashed it.
The Field expanded from his tiny frame, brushed the crib bars, and pushed through. His awareness rolled out into the nursery, past Aerwyna's cool depth, past Reitz's contained heat, into stone and mortar.
This is… big.
He'd never pushed this far alone.
He kept going, extending the Field like a bubble inflated from within.
"Whoa," Reitz breathed.
Aerwyna stayed silent, but her Field pulled tight, shrinking back to make space.
"Ezra," Reitz said, voice low, "this is the reach of your Field? At your age?"
Ezra couldn't spare attention. His focus started to tear. Every bit farther made his skull throb.
"Enough," Aerwyna said. "Reitz, call him back. He's barely five months old."
"Right," Reitz said fast. "That's far enough, Ezra. Now pull it back. Slowly."
Ezra exhaled shakily and obeyed.
The sphere contracted—courtyard to wall, wall to corridor, corridor to nursery—folding in like a tide rolling back.
Pressure eased with every step. By the time the Field drew back to his skin, the pounding in his head dropped to a dull throb.
The nursery looked flat for an instant.
Reitz stared at him like Ezra had grown a second head.
"This is half my Field," Reitz said, rough. "Half. At five months. And I am considered a top-tier Elementalist."
Aerwyna's eyes flicked to the crib, then to Reitz. "Range is not Circle," she said. "It only tells you how far he can hold himself together."
Reitz ran a hand through his hair, then gave Aerwyna a sideways look.
"You sure you didn't cheat on me with some Earth noble?" he asked weakly. "His range is on par with secondary-stage Earth Elementalists."
Aerwyna's glare could have frozen magma.
"Are you stupid?" she snapped. "Look at him. He looks exactly like you, except for the cheekbones."
She jabbed a finger toward Ezra's face. "That jaw? Those eyebrows? That stubborn frown? Blackfyre."
Reitz lifted both hands.
"Haha! I was joking, of course!" he said, laughter too fast. "Ezra is my son. How could anyone else have him as a son? His talent comes from me, naturally."
"Besides," he added, voice dropping, "who would dare lie with the wife of the Ashbringer?"
Reitz's Field tightened into killing intent; edges turned outward.
Killer.
Aerwyna's parchment cracked against the back of Reitz's head.
"Stop trying to act cool," she said. The weight bled out of the room. "You're scaring him. Continue your instruction."
Reitz rubbed his head, sheepish. The loud father slid back into place.
"Okay, okay," he said. "We were testing range. Next is density."
He turned back to Ezra. His voice gentled.
"Now," Reitz said, "keep your Field close. Cloak your skin with it. No farther. Think of it like a second skin."
Ezra did as instructed.
As he tightened it, the sensation shifted. The Field grew heavier. Warmth spread over his skin. His fingers tingled. His muscles felt lighter and firmer, like internal bracing.
"Good," Reitz murmured, eyes tracking something Ezra couldn't see. "That's your base."
Aerwyna watched, face still. Only the slight pinch at the corners of her mouth showed calculation.
"Now condense it further," Reitz said. "As much as you can. Make it thick."
The Field resisted. Ezra pushed anyway. The Field went uneven for a heartbeat, then evened out under his skin as he compressed it.
The nursery dimmed.
"Oh, Great Omnipotence," Aerwyna whispered.
Ezra opened his eyes.
He couldn't see his own aura, but he saw their faces.
Light spilled around the crib, sharp enough to throw hard shadows on the far wall. Reitz squinted and lifted a hand.
"By the Omnipotence," he breathed. "He's… shining."
Aerwyna stepped closer, her Field fluttering under the intensity.
"He has the same capacity as me," she said, slow. "But the coherence—that thickness—Blackfyre. You don't get that without Fire purity."
Ezra felt the strain.
It hurt. His heartbeat pushed the Field out; he forced it back in.
"Enough," Aerwyna said. "Reitz, don't push him beyond this."
Reitz nodded.
"Alright, Ezra," he said. "Let it go. Breathe out and let your Field soften."
Ezra exhaled. The aura loosened and spread back into its usual hazy layer. The light faded.
He slumped into the pillows, panting.
This exhaustion felt different from infant sleepiness. His mind had lifted something heavy.
Reitz whistled under his breath.
"So," he said quietly, "he has the range of a mid-stage Earth Elementalist, the capacity of a Riverrun Water mage, and the density of a Blackfyre Fire specialist."
He grinned, and something wild sat behind it.
"Our son is a monster."
Aerwyna gave him a look. She didn't deny it.
"It also means," she said, "that if he loses control, the damage will not be… small."
Her gaze returned to Ezra. Worry rolled off her Field.
"That is why we teach you early," she murmured. "Not to make you a weapon but to keep you from exploding."
Ezra pictured the [Flood Cannon], the [Flame Sabre], scaled up by his capacity and shaped by ignorance.
Necessary.
Reitz clapped his hands once, like he was shaking off tension.
"Right," he said. "Theory, tested. Now we go back to practice."
He pointed at Ezra's right arm.
"Condense again," he instructed. "Not all of it. Just enough to feel heavy. Pull it into your arm. From shoulder to fingertip."
He guided part of his Field down his right arm. Shoulder warm. Bicep prickling. Forearm tight.
"Good," Reitz said. "Now toward the wrist. Slowly. Don't force it through the joints."
Ezra focused on the point above his palm.
The Field thickened and shifted downward. His wrist tightened from the inside.
Sweat beaded at his hairline.
"Yep," Reitz muttered, watching the faint glow gather around Ezra's hand. "Definitely a Blackfyre. You don't get resistance with that much purity."
Aerwyna's eyes narrowed, but she stayed silent.
"The more refined the aura," Reitz added, "the easier to shape—the stronger the spell when you do."
Ezra's arm trembled. Time ran short.
Reitz leaned closer.
The jokes dropped away. Reitz's eyes went steady.
"Alright," he said. "That's enough for shaping. Time to give it a name."
He straightened, placed one hand over his heart, the other hovering above Ezra's glowing fist.
"This is the Blackfyre house spell," he said, and his voice took on ritual weight. "Our [Flame Sabre]. Passed from father to son since the founding of House Blackfyre."
His gaze locked onto Ezra's.
Reitz drew in a breath.
"Repeat after me," he said.
The nursery held still.
"A flame is sharp and ever burns…"