10-04-2020, 10:30 PM
eight
There is something salacious about new magic. It is so bright, so furious, so delectably satiating. The magician listens to the flowing magic inside the boy, reaches and understanding, and drinks it in like the breath of a dying man. He had forgotten what something so new tasted like- doe his magic is old and hardened, his veins bleeding black sludge and his heart barely beating. The magic has eaten him whole, devoured him through the course of centuries, left him rotting and malicious. But this? His Crowns? The magic courses through him, ripe and begging to be plucked like a forbidden fruit.
Eight closes his eyes, relishing in the delightful innocence of it all. He lets Crowns’ newborn magic delve inside him; see the life that he has had, taste the rotting destruction he has left in his wake, and the gentle manipulation he has dealt, the weapons he has wielded in battle, the heavy crowns that have topped his head- he will let it see it all in a whirling globe of time.
Perhaps this monstrous curse would not devour his Son whole, and maybe it would- but he would live to see it either way. Eight can feel it drinking him in, a desert flower in the wake of a rain- let it taste him and move forward with this wretched transformation. A thing that makes monsters out of men, gods out of children, magicians out of the meek.
—
It is finished- the magic has run its course, has burned everything in its wake and left the little ocean boy adrift in soot and adroit in skill. He looks to Eight, but there is only so much the magician can explain. (And oh, how badly he wished he’d had someone to explain it all). “You have been given the gift of magic. By our blood and my feather and the faeries of Beqanna- you have the gift of the gods.” He pauses, dripping a feather down for the bot to clutch onto and pull himself up. “There will be many things you do not quite understand. But I will be here, and teach you them all.”
He turns, facing his wave washed child - “Now, just think of anything you would like to do or be in the world. Tell me, and we will make it true.”
mind my wicked words and tipsy topsy smirk