"Magic works through intent," Father begins, his voice steady, as if he's explaining a fundamental truth of existence. "Just as you have power over your own body, you also possess power over a concept that is intrinsically tied to your core. By manipulating energy, you can manifest that concept into reality. My primary concept, for example, is time—"
But before he can finish, my mind races ahead, unable to let that revelation slip by unnoticed.
"AAAH?" I scream, my thoughts spiraling with the possibilities. You can control time?! Doesn't that make you, like, totally overpowered? I can't help but blurt out. When it comes to superpowers, time manipulation always tops my list!
Father chuckles softly, shaking his head as he prepares to temper my expectations. "It's not as omnipotent as you think. I can't move through time. My ability is more about altering the perception of time—changing the way objects or people experience it. For example, I can slow down my own experience of time, which allows me to think faster from the perspective of others. But I can also do the reverse—alter the flow of time for others, making their experience of it change. And yes, I can speed up my movements as well, but that requires a significant amount of effort and energy."
His explanation grounds my wild expectations, though the concept still fascinates me. The power to bend time, even in these limited ways, still feels like something out of the realm of fantasy—a subtle yet profound influence over the most mysterious and elusive of forces.
"As for me," Mother chimes in, her voice bright and full of life as she leans on the head of Albert only to immediately stop after the man almost falls to his knees, "my primary concept is flow." There's a certain pride in the way she speaks, a confidence that comes from a deep understanding of her own power. "This concept allows me to manipulate the movement of things—their direction, their velocity, the very essence of how they traverse space."
She gestures gracefully towards the greenish hues that ripple through her horns and wings, their color reflecting her connection to the elements. "I've also attuned myself to the wind," she continues, a soft smile playing on her lips. "This attunement grants me a deeper foresight and an intimate connection to the currents of air. It allows me to manifest wind out of nothing, conjuring it from the ether. And once the wind is born, I can use my primary concept of flow to guide it, to control its path and power."
"Albert over here is quite different," Mother says, gesturing toward him with a knowing smile.
"Allow me to continue," Albert says, taking his cue with a practiced air, clearing his throat as he prepares for another of his monologues. "Where your mother can manifest her will into existence—bringing forth something new that didn't exist before—I work a bit differently. My abilities don't allow me to create from nothing; instead, I manipulate the inner workings of magic itself. I can transform one thing into another, but I can't conjure anything new. This difference—between the ability to manifest and the ability to change—is where we draw the line between casters and manipulators. Your parents, both of them, are casters, though your father is a bit of a special case. I, on the other hand, am a manipulator."
With a deliberate motion, Albert retrieves a peculiar pencil from his pocket. Instead of a brush at the end, there is a gem that seems to hum with potential energy. I can sense something emanating from it, something familiar—like the faint scent of a memory, a trace of that elusive something I had sensed in the canvas before.
With my third eye, I can perceive the intent of Albert as it flows like a fine gas, invisible yet palpable, seeping from the space around him and condensing into the pencil he holds. It's a curious sensation—strangely, I can almost taste his will. It carries a flavor, a mix of persuasion and something bittersweet, like the aftertaste of a complex emotion.
As the pressure of his intent builds around the gem, the energy within it is forced to respond. It's as if the gem is a vessel, containing a liquid-like energy that begins to stir, compelled by the surrounding force. This energy has no color in the traditional sense; the way I perceive it is far more intricate, beyond simple sight. Yet, I can detect that familiar taste of something—that elusive, undefinable essence that resonates deep within my senses.
Albert flicks his wrist with practiced ease, and the fluid energy begins to react, its form shifting under the weight of his will. It starts to boil, a rapid and almost violent transformation. I can sense the liquid energy changing state, becoming gas-like as it transitions, the something within it taking on a new form. As the boiling intensifies, more of this gaseous energy emerges, a delicate dance of transformation happening right before my senses.
When I shift my focus back to my physical eyes, I see that a flame has sprung to life in front of the pencil Albert is holding. It flickers and dances, a tangible manifestation of the magic that had just transpired—a flame born not from wood or spark, but from intent, from the subtle interplay of energy and will.
"Whoooaa…" The sound of my amazement escapes me, a soft murmur that barely captures the wonder I feel. I lean forward, my eyes widening as I focus on the flame that seems to have formed out of nowhere, a marvel of existence brought to life by sheer will.
At the root of the flame, there is a bright, ball-like point—a radiant core that pulses with energy, spitting out flames like a miniature sun. It glows with an intensity that draws me in, its light both mesmerizing and mysterious. My eyes can't fully grasp the intricacies of what I'm seeing, but through my other senses, I can perceive the deeper layers of this phenomenon.
I can sense the flow of energy as it moves toward that brilliant point, an invisible current that spirals inward, drawn toward the center. The energy shifts as it approaches, undergoing a transformation, a subtle dance of change that occurs just beyond the realm of sight. And then, as if crossing a threshold, it manifests into the physical world, emerging as visible flame—a tangible, flickering reality born from the invisible.
I reach out my hand toward the flame, my fingers stretching forward, drawn by a force I can't quite name. The flame dances just beyond my reach, its warmth brushing against my skin, inviting yet elusive. I focus all my attention on the tips of my fingers, trying to feel the flow of my intention as it moves through my arm, down to my outstretched hand. I scan through different states of focus, searching for that elusive connection, hoping to sense a change, a shift, something that will unlock the next step.
Albert notices what I'm doing. His eyes light up with a spark of recognition, as if he can see the intent coursing through me. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of my parents—both of them are watching me intently, their attention fully captured by this moment.
"Empty your mind," Albert's voice cuts through the silence, guiding me with gentle authority. "Find the frequency of what you are trying to manipulate. Dial into it. Let your mind vibrate with it."
His words resonate within me, and I allow myself to follow his guidance. The flame flickers tantalizingly close, its warmth now absorbed into my hand. I close my eyes for a brief moment, letting my physical senses blend with the information from my third eye. I can feel the subtle vibrations of the energy that fuels the flame—a delicate, rhythmic pulse that thrums in the space between reality and potential.
As I empty my mind, I start to feel a subtle throb, a sensation that seems to match the vibration of the energy before me. It's as if my thoughts are adjusting, tuning themselves to the same frequency as the flame, aligning with the pulse of its existence. A strange feeling of power and abundance begins to hum through my mind, a sensation that fills me with the promise of possibility.
And yet, something is missing. The pieces of the puzzle haven't fully aligned, and I can sense the gap, the part of the equation I don't yet understand. The connection is there, tantalizingly close, but the knowledge to harness it remains just out of reach. I need more—more understanding, more clarity, more insight to bring this moment to fruition.
'Albert, can you come to my core space again?' My thoughts reach out to him, a gentle nudge against the boundaries of his mind.
"What? You mean—" Albert stammers, physically recoiling, taking a half-step back as if the very idea unsettles him. "I don't think that's a good idea."
'Come on. Aren't you curious about what I can do?' I coax, crawling closer to the edge where the reluctant researcher stands. His hesitation is palpable, but curiosity has always been a powerful lure. Slowly, reluctantly, he stops and extends his arm in my direction. I grasp his hand, but this time, I don't let my mind completely escape into that otherworldly space. I close my eyes, splitting my focus between the sensory input from my third eye and the plunge into my core space.
As my consciousness sinks into the depths of the core space, the world outside begins to fade—becoming distant, like a memory slipping away. But this time, my split focus acts as a tether, holding me back from losing complete touch with my physical senses. Before, I had no control over this process, letting my mind drift wherever it pleased. But now, my grip on reality remains, tenuous but present. I can feel my awareness spreading over a vast radius, my third eye casting its net wide, giving me a detailed picture of everything in the room.
A tingling sensation washes over my body, a ripple of surprise as my mind grapples with this new form of perception. This third eye—it's nothing like the human senses I once knew. It's a three-dimensional sense, allowing me to feel the space around me, to perceive shapes and objects as if they were floating in a vast, intricate web. I can sense the dishes hidden away in a closed cabinet. I can trace the contours of my mother's face, even though I cannot see it. It's fascinating. But for now, I focus my mind on the flame that dances close to me.
The flame—bright, detailed, and strange—reveals itself to me in ways that defy simple understanding. I follow the liquid-like energy as it enters the small sun at the flame's core. What once seemed like an ocean of energy now becomes a collection of currents and spinning pools. The currents transform into great rivers, and the pools spiral inward, droplets of energy spiraling closer and closer to the center. Within that center, I sense distances that stretch into infinity, spirals that seem to fade into endless dimensions.
The space around me becomes more complex as I narrow my focus, shrinking my perception to the smallest possible scale. My awareness tunnels in on the flame, blocking out everything else. The intricate work of nature that creates this flame is a marvel to behold. The way the energy flows reminds me of the canvas, the endless patterns and shapes that weave together to form something tangible.
Suddenly, my third eye begins to pulsate, and the information it feeds me starts to vibrate. I don't fight it. I let it happen, surrendering to the experience. The shape of space twists around me, and I lose all sense of where the flame exists in the real world—where I exist in the real world. But that doesn't bother me. I'm captivated by this new discovery, enthralled by the patterns unfolding before me.
My third eye is translating this information into the canvas! It all makes sense! Thank you God, the world is beautiful!
Dopamine floods my reasoning, overwhelming my childish mind with an insatiable urge to experiment. I begin to test the limits of this new understanding, driven by curiosity and the thrill of discovery.
Can I move that? Can I change this? Can I create my own flow? I wonder, exhilarated by the possibilities. Whoa, I can make my own whirlpool! Can I create my own flame?
I focus on the flame once more, this time tracing the energy back to the gem. The gem, it turns out, is a puzzle within a puzzle, twice as complicated as the rest of the canvas. Fascinating! The patterns—the spirals—are like the crystals from my old world! Are these linking fibers the bonds of atoms? And these crossing points—could they be where the atoms reside?
Science and magic intertwine here, dancing together in a way that blurs the lines between the known and the unknown. I can perceive an atom with my senses alone—its structure laid bare before me, revealing layers of complexity I could have only dreamed of in the old world. The atoms appear as multiple layers of fibers, weaving through the canvas of reality. In physical space, they overlap, yet in the deeper layers of existence, they never truly touch. These fibers twist and shift through dimensions, binding together yet remaining forever apart, their paths never crossing in the same plane. The more I zoom in, the more intricate it becomes, revealing a pattern, a macro-level design that guides it all—an underlying order amidst the chaos.
These overlapping layers are not just random threads of existence; they are different flavors of something—different states of energy, each one distinct yet connected. This world shares certain patterns of physical manifestation with the one I remember, but there are forces here—overruling, unseen—that operate on a different level entirely. Forces that shape reality in ways I am only beginning to grasp, their influence subtle yet profound. It is as if this world is governed by a deeper set of rules, ones that my old world could only hint at, but never fully understand.
To make sense of it all, I must ground my understanding in something that bridges these worlds, a thread that connects the old and the new.