Teaching an eight-month-old to unconsciously regulate dimensional power output was exactly as impossible as it sounded, and after three days of trying I was ready to admit defeat except Hope was actually getting it which was somehow more terrifying than if she'd failed.
"Feel the power here." I guided her tiny hand to her chest where the hybrid magic pooled. "It's always there. Always moving. But you can make it quiet. Small. Like this."
I demonstrated by dampening my own power signature—something I'd learned in the prison when hiding from The Root's awareness—and watched Hope's face scrunch in concentration.
Her power signature flickered. Dimmed. Stabilized at about sixty percent of normal output.
"Good!" The praise came out before I could stop it. "That's really good, Hope. Now hold it there. Keep it quiet."
Keep it quiet. Right. I was teaching my eight-month-old daughter to suppress her natural magical signature because her existence was accidentally destabilizing reality.
