Ascension of Magic

The world was always quieter at night.

Dorian had noticed this for as long as he could remember—how everything seemed to still, how the air itself felt heavier in the dark. It wasn't a fear of the night that made him retreat into his room when the sun went down; it was something deeper. The world seemed to breathe differently when the moon was high, and Dorian could feel it in his bones. Magic thrummed in the air, palpable and waiting.

The fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows across his room, stretching long fingers along the walls and ceiling. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, and the sound felt like a thousand voices whispering just out of reach. He could hear it all—the wind, the trees, the rustle of leaves—but it was more than just sound. He could feel it, too. The magic was there, swirling just beyond the edges of his awareness, teasing him, pulling him forward.

Every night was the same. The world fell silent, but inside him, the magic grew louder.

He stared out the window, eyes fixed on the dark outline of the trees. The stars were barely visible, hidden behind the clouds, but Dorian didn't need them. He could feel the pulse of magic in the earth, in the very ground beneath him. He didn't know what it was, exactly, or why it was so strong now, but it was like a magnet pulling at him. It wasn't just the wind or the rain or the world outside—it was him. His presence in the world seemed to invite the magic to stir, to come alive around him.

"Dorian?"

His mother's voice broke the silence, and he turned to see her standing in the doorway. Her face was framed by the dim light of the hallway, but her eyes, dark and thoughtful, were fixed on him. She always seemed to know when he was awake, even when he didn't make a sound.

"I was just thinking," Dorian replied, though his voice felt far away. He didn't want to explain the strange feeling that gnawed at his insides, the restless need to reach out, to understand what was happening inside him. The magic was both terrifying and exciting, and he couldn't bring himself to put it into words.

Elena walked into the room and sat beside him on the bed. She always had this calming presence, like the steady hum of a lullaby that never quite reached its end. She was a quiet woman, measured in her actions, but there was a depth to her eyes that Dorian had come to recognize as a reflection of his own feelings—a quiet storm beneath her calm demeanor.

"You've been up here a lot lately," she said, her voice soft. "I know you've been feeling something... different. It's not easy, I know."

Dorian didn't respond at first. The truth was, he hadn't wanted to tell her just how different things had become. It wasn't just the magic that was calling to him; it was the feeling of it—how it had become so much more present in his life. It wasn't subtle anymore. It was like a constant pressure around him, pushing him, pulling him, almost as if it wanted to escape him, but he couldn't let it.

"I don't know what it is," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced at his hands, which still felt strange to him, like they were capable of more than he understood. "It's like something is always there, just beneath the surface, but I don't know how to control it."

Elena's eyes softened with understanding. She reached out and touched his arm gently, her fingers warm against his skin.

"It's the gift you were born with," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "But it's more than that, Dorian. It's not something that can be forced. Magic is like... a river. You can't stop it, but you can learn how to flow with it."

Dorian looked up at her, his brow furrowed. "How do you know that? How do you know what it's like?"

Elena smiled faintly. "Because I've been where you are. I've felt the same things you're feeling now—the need to understand, the need to control. But you don't have to understand it all at once. The magic, it's patient. It will wait for you to understand it in your own time."

He nodded, though the words didn't quite settle in him. He wanted to believe her—he wanted to believe that one day, all this chaos in his head would make sense. But how could it? How could he make sense of something so... big? The magic wasn't just inside him; it was in everything. His mother had always told him that, but now he understood it in a way that terrified him. It wasn't just a part of him—it was the world itself.

"I don't know if I can wait," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He had been holding them in for so long—the frustration, the fear. "I feel like it's... taking over me. Like I can't breathe sometimes. What if it breaks me? What if I lose control?"

Elena's expression softened, and she reached out to hold his hand, her grip warm but strong.

"You won't lose control," she said, her voice unwavering. "You're not alone in this, Dorian. Magic is a part of you, but it doesn't define you. You're stronger than you know. But you must trust yourself."

Dorian wanted to believe her. He really did. But he couldn't shake the feeling that the magic was too powerful, too untamable for him to ever fully understand. How could he trust himself when he didn't even know what was real anymore? The lines between what he could control and what he couldn't were blurring. The more he felt the pulse of magic around him, the more distant everything else seemed.

"I just... want it to stop," he whispered. "I want to be normal."

Elena sighed, her voice quiet. "There is no normal for you, Dorian. Not anymore. But you don't need to be normal. You just need to be you."

Dorian closed his eyes, the weight of her words pressing down on him like the quiet hum of the earth. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. The idea of being "normal" seemed impossible—because how could he ever go back to a life where magic wasn't part of him?

The world outside was still dark, the wind howling against the cottage walls, but Dorian didn't feel quite as alone anymore. Elena was there, with him, and she understood. The magic still swirled inside him, pressing against the edges of his consciousness, but he didn't feel quite so lost in it.

Not yet, at least.