That night, alone in the quiet gloom of his stone-walled room, Renard sat cross-legged atop the cot with his Providence still shimmering faintly in his mind's eye. The stolen slot continued to display its blank presence—silent, unidentified, yet undeniably full.
It hadn't resolved.
But something tugged at his thoughts—a thread of possibility. A spark buried in the noise.
'I've been trying to claim it all at once,' Renard realized as he was sat in the dark.
What he had absorbed from Thomas wasn't ability but Knowldege and knowledge was not a thing that can be claimbed, it is something that should be learned!
'But maybe that's not how it works.'
Layers of pedagogy, research, speculation, and refined wisdom etched across decades of magical instruction. And perhaps, like any deep learning, it couldn't be forced into place. It had to be earned, through repetition, recognition, and retention.
