Through Light and Shadow

Chapter 7

"Magic is not commanded—it is requested."

The first line had me frowning. Requested?

I read on. Magic, in its purest form, is the fragments left behind by the Shattered Stars. They intertwined with essence from Elarion itself—a language spoken not with demands, but with respect. To wield it is to seek aid from the world's energies.

My mind jumped to the garden earlier—the way the lights had danced around Aldric, responding to his words. Not forced... asked.

"Summoned by Elarion's plea, drawn from the vastness beyond mortal sight, the fragments answered—a covenant of light forged in darkness."

These fragments, celestial remnants scattered across realms unseen, were called—not by chance nor fate, but by the will of Elarion. In the age when shadow clawed at the heart of the world, Elarion's voice reached beyond the veil of the cosmos, and the stars listened. They descended, shards of stars, to seal what should never walk among the living. They are not merely remnants of light; they are promises—eternal witnesses to the world's ancient vow against darkness.

To move them, to speak to them, is not a feat of power but of recognition. They answer not to command but to request—one steeped in sincerity and clarity of purpose. Only those whose blood carries the dormant echo of primordial magic may attempt such a communion. These individuals, known as sorcerers, are marked not by lineage alone but by understanding. Magic is not wielded; it is befriended. It listens before it acts.

To become a sorcerer is to grasp this truth: the fragments possess will. They consider the one who speaks. A voice hollow with doubt or selfish desire is but a breeze to them—passing, unnoticed. But a voice rooted in purpose, shaped by heart's resolve—that voice awakens the fragments.

The book's weathered pages unfold secrets of Spellcasting: not a performance of grandeur, but an act of intention distilled into word. Gesture means little. Volume means nothing. Magic seeks purpose. It is drawn to the spaces between heartbeat and breath, to the silent weight behind spoken syllables.

"Intention forms the bridge; sincerity forges the path." Without clarity, spells unravel—like a thread pulled loose from the fabric of reality. A faltering heart begets a faltering spell. Doubt is poison; greed, a pitfall. One must believe. One must mean.

For those who stand before the fragments and ask, the experience is a revelation. Stars do not simply move—they respond. And in their response lies the weight of the universe acknowledging you.

Speak truth, and the cosmos leans closer. Speak with unwavering purpose, and light bends to your will. Speak falsely... and be forgotten.

When the fragments stir, reality shifts. The air thickens. Time holds its breath. And from the depths of the unseen, starlight drips into the world, carving destiny from silence and sincerity.

I thought back to Aldric's calm voice, his words fluid and deliberate. He hadn't just spoken—he'd asked, each syllable like a key turning in a lock. The lights had listened.

The temptation to try for myself clawed at me. Just one word, I thought. But no—my heart thumped at the thought of things going wrong. Not yet.

Movement at the doorway caught my eye—Aldric, passing by. His gaze flicked to the book in my lap. No comments. Just that small, knowing smile again. Figure it out on your own, his silence seemed to say.

I rolled my eyes. Smug. But I couldn't deny the spark of intrigue that had rooted itself in me.

Night fell, the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls. I kept reading—pages detailing the world's energy lines and how the Shattered Stars' fragments drifted through them, unseen but ever-present. Sorcerers, the text said, spent lifetimes learning to listen, to call upon these fragments without bending them to their will. It was cooperation, not control.

So that's how he did it, I mused. He asked for help... and they answered.

Sleep tugged at me, heavy and inevitable. I marked the page, dragged myself to bed. The unfamiliar sheets were cool against my skin, my thoughts a tangled web of orbs, stars, and Aldric's frustratingly patient smile.

I don't want this, I told myself again. But a traitorous part of me—the curious part—whispered back, Don't you?

Lights danced behind my closed eyelids. Tiny, swirling orbs. Gentle. Inviting.

And I let them.