Adam sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, the fire grimoire open between him and Chloe, its pages faintly warm under his fingers in a way that felt intentional.
He had been reading for a while.
"So this one," he said, tapping the margin lightly, "Ignis Manus, it says controlled projection, but it doesn't really define what 'controlled' means in this context."
Chloe didn't look up from where she was leaning on her staff. "It means control."
"Right," Adam said. "But like… directional control? Or intensity? Or both?"
"Both."
"Okay," he nodded slowly, eyes dropping back to the page. "That makes sense."
A beat passed.
"And this one," he added, flipping a page. "Scintilla Vocare. It says initial ignition without sustained output. So it's basically just a spark?"
"Yes."
"Okay," Adam said again.
Another beat.
"…Where's Aiva?"
Chloe didn't even blink.
"I know exactly what you're doing," she said.
Adam glanced up. "I'm asking questions."
"You're stalling."
"I'm gathering info."
"You've been gathering information for twenty minutes."
"Information takes time."
"Not this information."
He exhaled softly, leaning back on his hands. "I feel like understanding the theory before attempting practical application is a reasonable—"
"She found a teleportation grimoire," Chloe cut in flatly.
Adam blinked. "What."
"She came in earlier," Chloe continued, finally looking at him. "She was excited. Said she wanted to try it before we got here so she could show off."
"Sounds like something she would do," Adam said cautiously.
"She opened a portal to the South Pole," Chloe said. "And then she fell through it."
Adam stared at her.
"…I'm sorry, she what?"
"She's probably there now."
There was a brief silence.
Adam's brain did a quick, unhelpful scan of everything he knew about the South Pole.
Cold. Empty. Not designed for casual visits.
"…That sounds bad," he said carefully.
Chloe frowned slightly. "Why."
"Because it's the South Pole."
"Yes."
"And she fell into it. Through a portal she didn't fully control."
"Yes."
"And you're not worried."
"No."
Adam pushed himself upright, sitting fully now. "Okay, I'm just, trying to calibrate here. On a scale of 'this is fine' to 'we should maybe go get her,' where are we."
"This is fine."
He studied her face.
She wasn't performing it.
She genuinely meant it.
"She can crack techniques that take people years in a few hours," Chloe said, like she was explaining something obvious. "If she opened the portal, she can reopen it. Or she'll build something else. Or she'll just… figure it out."
"In the South Pole."
"Yes."
Adam ran a hand over his face. "That feels like a detail we're not emphasizing enough."
"It's a location," Chloe said. "Not a problem."
"She fell into it."
"She'll climb out."
"That's not how continents work."
Chloe's expression didn't change. "It is for her."
Adam sat there for a second.
She's not wrong.
He didn't like that she wasn't wrong.
"…Okay," he said slowly. "I'm choosing to trust you on this. Not because I fully believe it, but because I don't have a better option right now."
"Good," Chloe said. "Now stop stalling."
"I wasn't—"
"You were."
"I was asking—"
"Cast the spell."
Adam looked down at the grimoire again.
The page didn't look any different than it had ten minutes ago.
Ignis Manus.
Simple.
Controlled projection.
His affinity.
Your thing. you got this
He inhaled once, slow.
"Okay," he said. "Yeah. Okay."
He held his hand out in front of him, palm open, focusing on the shape of the motion described on the page.
Fire.
Not the word.
Not the idea.
The thing itself.
Heat. Movement. Consumption.
He tried to hold it.
"Ignis Manus," he said.
The air in front of his palm stayed exactly the same.
Nothing.
No flicker. No warmth. No shift.
Just his hand, extended into empty space.
Chloe sighed.
"You're thinking about fire," she said. "Not feeling it."
"That's… the same thing," Adam said.
"It's not," she said. "Try again."
He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders once.
"Right. Okay."
He flipped a page.
"Let's try the spark one."
"Fine."
"Lower expectations, i like it," he said. "We build from there."
"Cast the spell."
He adjusted his hand slightly, fingers closer together this time, focusing on the smaller scope.
A spark.
That was manageable.
Contained.
Less… destructive.
"Scintilla Vocare," he said.
Nothing.
Again.
The silence that followed felt louder this time.
Adam stared at his hand for a second longer than he needed to.
"Okay," he said. "That one—"
"You hesitated," Chloe said.
"I didn't hesitate."
"You did."
"I paused." he tried defending
"You doubted."
Adam closed his eyes briefly. "Those are all the same thing in this context, aren't they."
"Yes."
"Great."
He dropped his hand, letting it rest against his knee.
This is getting old.
Not loud frustration.
Not dramatic. Just tired. Tired of the same result, the same nothing.
"Again," Chloe said.
Adam paused for a moment, then raised his hand once more. Same position, same motion. He didn't bother looking at the page this time—he already knew it by heart.
A spark.
Just a spark.
"Scintilla Vocare," he said again.
For a fraction of a second—
Something.
A tiny, sharp flicker of orange snapped into existence just above his palm, bright and real and unmistakably there—
—and then it was gone.
Both of them saw it.
The space between them held still for a beat.
"That was—" Adam started.
"It was," Chloe said.
He let out a breath, a short one.
"Okay," he said. "So that counts as—"
"It counts as progress."
"Right."
He nodded once.
Then again.
Then his brain caught up.
"Or," he said, "it counts as a fluke."
Chloe's expression flattened.
"Or," Adam continued, gaining momentum, "the affinity reading was off. Which is not impossible. These things happen. We've seen inaccuracies before. So maybe this isn't actually—"
"Adam."
"—my thing, and we're forcing it, which is why—"
"Adam."
"—it's not working consistently, and—"
"Adam."
He stopped.
Chloe looked at him.
"The problem," she said, very clearly, "is not fire."
He blinked.
"It's you."
"That feels—"
"You can do it," she said. "Your lattice is built for it. That spark just proved it."
"Or it proved I got lucky."
"You didn't get lucky," she said. "You stopped thinking for half a second and it worked."
Adam opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"That's the problem," Chloe continued. "You don't believe it's going to work. So when you cast, there's no conviction. And without conviction, the Lumen doesn't know what you want."
"I know what I want," Adam said.
"No," she said. "You know what you're supposed to want. That's different."
He frowned slightly.
"You're not failing at fire," Chloe said. "You're failing at believing you can use it."
Adam stared at her.
"That's… annoyingly insightful."
"I know."
He looked back down at his hand.
Believe.
That was the instruction, not the technique, not the form
just belief.
"…That feels harder," he said.
"It's not," Chloe said. "Just do it."
"That's not helpful."
"It should be."
"It's not."
She made a small, frustrated sound under her breath. "Just imagine it working."
"I am."
"No, you're imagining it not working and preparing for that."
"That feels like a reasonable contingency."
"It's not," she snapped. "You're sabotaging your own cast."
"I'm managing expectations."
"You're lowering them."
"That's how you avoid disappointment."
"That's how you guarantee failure."
He looked at her.
She looked back.
Neither of them moved.
"…Okay," Adam said slowly. "So your solution is what. I just decide to believe harder."
"Yes."
"That's your entire plan."
"Yes."
He stared at her for a second.
"…You're very bad at motivational speaking."
Chloe frowned. "I don't understand why you need motivation."
"Because I'm human."
"You're a werewolf."
"You know what I mean."
"No," she said. "I don't."
Adam let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something else.
"Yeah," he said. "of course."
There was a brief pause.
Then Chloe stood up.
Adam watched her, cautious.
"…What are you doing."
"Fixing it," she said.
"That's vague."
She lifted her staff, the metal catching the low light of the hall as it materialized fully in her hand.
The air shifted.
Subtle at first.
Then not.
A faint charge built around the head of the staff, the space humming softly as thin arcs of electricity began to crawl along its surface.
Adam blinked.
"…Chloe."
"Yes."
"What are you doing."
"I'm providing motivation."
"Doesn't feel like it."
"It is."
The charge intensified, the light sharpening, the air around them tightening with the kind of pressure that made the back of his neck prickle.
She pointed the staff at him.
Adam froze.
For exactly one second.
Then,
"Okay," he said, raising both hands slightly. "Let's, hold on. Let's just take a second here."
"No."
"No, let's take several seconds," he said. "This is a situation that benefits from multiple seconds."
"You need fear," Chloe said. "Fear will force conviction."
"There are other ways to achieve conviction," Adam said. "We can explore those options."
"This is efficient."
"This is electrocution."
"It's controlled."
"By you."
"Yes."
"That's not as reassuring as you think it is."
She took a step forward.
He took a step back.
They moved like that, in sync.
"You're overreacting," Chloe said.
"I feel like I'm reacting exactly the right amount."
"You're not."
"I am."
"You're not."
"Chloe," he said, backing up another step, "we can talk about this."
"We are talking."
"This is not a discussion, this is you advancing with a lightning weapon."
"It's a staff."
"It's a lightning staff."
She adjusted her grip slightly, the charge crackling louder.
"You just need one push," she said.
"I feel sufficiently pushed."
"You're not."
"I am at peak push."
"거짓말," she muttered under her breath.
"I don't even know what that means but I feel like it's not supportive."
"It means you're lying."
"Okay, I feel like we've moved away from constructive feedback."
He hit the wall behind him, the stone cold against his back.
There was nowhere left to go.
"Chloe," he pleaded, hands still up, "let's think about the long-term consequences of this approach."
"There won't be any."
"There will be immediate consequences."
"You'll be fine."
"I might not be."
"You will."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"How."
"Because I'm controlling it."
"That's the part I'm concerned about."
She tilted her head slightly, considering him.
Then she nodded once.
"Okay," she said. "I'll show you."
"That's worse."
"I'll fire one shot."
"That's not any better."
"Just enough to prove the point."
"I understand the point," Adam said quickly. "I believe the point. The point is believed."
"You don't believe it."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I do."
She drew the staff back slightly, the charge peaking, the air around them tightening further,
"Chloe—"
A ripple cut through the space above them.
A tear in the air, sudden and uneven.
A portal snapped open.
Aiva fell out of it.
She hit the ground hard, rolled once, and came up on one knee, one hand immediately going to her shoulder.
"…Ow," she said.
She paused.
Looked up.
Took in the scene.
Adam pressed back against the wall, hands raised, expression caught somewhere between negotiation and acceptance.
Chloe standing a few feet away, staff raised, lightning coiled and ready.
Aiva blinked once.
Then she smiled, easy and bright.
"Oh," she said. "Don't mind me."
She brushed a bit of frost from her sleeve, then moved to the side and sat down on the floor, legs crossing comfortably.
"By all means," she added. "Carry on."