Doren knew his journey had to begin in secret, and he knew just where to start. He found his triplet sisters, Daria and Jemsie, in the garden. Daria, her black and grey hair tied back with a simple twine, was tending to a row of medicinal herbs. Her touch, a soft brown elemental glow, coaxed the leaves to grow fuller and healthier. Jemsie, her silver hair shimmering in the afternoon light, sat nearby, mending a torn canvas with a needle and thread that seemed to hum with a gentle light.
He approached them, grasping the focal stone. The sisters, so consumed with their tasks and their grief, barely noticed him until he was standing over them.
"How do you do it?" Doren asked, his voice low.
Jemsie looked up, a soft, sad smile on her face. "Do what, Doren?"
"Your powers… Your gifts." he clarified. "How does it feel? When you use it."
Daria paused her work, her brow furrowed in thought. "It's... natural. It's like breathing. When I touch the earth, I feel a connection, a stability. It's a sense of grounding, a deep, quiet strength that flows through my hands and into the soil. It feels like home."
Jemsie's expression grew thoughtful. "For me, it's different. My element has a feeling of hope. When I use it to heal, or to mend, I feel a warmth, a sense of clarity. It's a lightness, like the sun on a winter's day. It feels like a promise that things will get better."
Doren listened intently, his mind racing. He had spent ten years reading about the theory of the elements, but he had never heard a firsthand account like this. He heard the difference in their descriptions, the contrast between Daria's solid, earthy calm and Jemsie's hopeful, airy warmth. He was looking for a starting point, a feeling to latch onto, a single shore in the vast ocean of his own power.
"Do you ever feel a pull towards another element?" Doren asked. "Like, you, Jemsie, have you ever felt the urge to work with darkness? Or Daria, with fire?"
The question was so unexpected that both sisters stopped their work entirely. They exchanged a puzzled glance. "No," Jemsie said, a hint of confusion in her voice. "We're born to our element. That's just how it is."
Doren nodded, a new piece of the puzzle clicking into place. Their magic was a given, an extension of who they were. His wasn't. He had to build it. He thanked them and walked away, his mind now filled with a new kind of information, not from a book, but from the heart.
Doren walked away from his sisters, his mind a whirlwind of new information. For ten years, he had believed their powers to be a simple, natural extension of themselves. But his quiet observations, combined with his new knowledge from Sophron's journals, had given him a different perspective.
Daria and Jemsie's descriptions of their powers were not just about their elements; they were about their very natures. Daria, the steadfast rock of the family, felt "grounded" by the earth. Jemsie, the gentle healer, felt "hope" from her light.
As he walked, a quiet truth, one that he couldn't yet articulate, began to form in his mind. He knew his sisters' affinities were more complex than they thought. It wasn't just the Powerhart that was a wellspring of potential; his very birth had touched them all.
The knowledge and wisdom of their gofts was a silent weight, a new burden on top of all the others. He felt he needed to understand every facet of his family's powers before he could even begin to comprehend his own. He thanked his sisters, and with a new purpose, he went to find Damurah.
He found his brother still at the forge, a new piece of steel on the anvil. The air around him was still thick with his volatile temper, sparks of fire jumping erratically from his fingers. Damurah looked up as Doren approached, his face a mask of frustration and grudging respect.
"What do you want now, little ghost?" he grunted, a flash of fire momentarily lighting his eyes. "More lectures on forging?"
Doren ignored the jab and asked the same question he had asked his sisters. "How does it feel? When you use your element?"
Damurah stared at Doren, his hand hovering over the anvil, the flame on his fingertips sputtering in confusion. "What kind of a question is that?" he scoffed. "It's just there. Like my arm. Or my leg. When I need it, I use it. When I'm angry... it just happens."
He paused, a flicker of genuine bewilderment in his eyes. "It's a part of me. It feels like... a burning. A kind of heat. A rage that needs to get out." He clenched his fist, and a small, angry burst of flame erupted, singeing the air. "I don't think about it, Doren. I feel it. The fire, the heat, the power... it's all the same thing. It's just who I am."
Doren listened, absorbing every word. His sisters had spoken of connection and hope, of grounding and stability. Damurah spoke of rage and a burning need to release it. He saw the fire not as a tool, but as a part of his brother's very essence.
With this new piece of information, Doren was more determined than ever. He now had two distinct paths to consider. One path was of his sisters, of hope and stability. The other was of his brother, of chaos and rage. Doren knew he had to choose a starting point to begin his training. Which path will he choose?
Doren nodded slowly, a quiet understanding dawning on his face. He knew he wouldn't find his answers at the forge. He had felt the chaotic, angry aura radiating from his brother. It was the antithesis of the calm, controlled power his father's journals had described.
He thanked Damurah and walked away, a new destination in mind. He needed to talk to Leasie. His youngest sister, the one whose gray skin was a mystery to the world, was a quiet anchor in their family's grief. Her darkness affinity was as silent and subtle as a shadow.
He found Leasie sitting by the window, a book in her lap. The afternoon sun streamed in, but a faint, almost invisible gray mist seemed to cling to her, absorbing the light. Her dark amber eyes were serene, a stark contrast to the roiling emotions of the rest of the family.
"Leasie," Doren said, sitting across from her. "Can I ask you something?"
She looked up, her expression calm. "Of course, Doren."
"How does it feel?" he asked, the now-familiar question leaving his lips. "Your element. What does it feel like?"
Leasie considered the question for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the dancing dust motes in the sunlight. "It doesn't feel like anything," she said at last, her voice soft and even. "It feels like an absence. A stillness. When there is chaos, I feel it being pulled into me, becoming quiet. When there is sorrow, it is absorbed. It's not a power, Doren. It's a refuge."
Doren listened, captivated. His sisters had spoken of hope and grounding. Damurah had spoken of rage. Leasie spoke of stillness and a refuge from chaos. She wasn't an absorber of light, but of emotion. A profound calmness settled over him as he listened to her. He realized that the darkness affinity was not a malicious or evil force, but a profound and gentle one.
He now had three distinct paths to consider. The stability and hope of his triplets. The rage of his brother. And the quiet stillness of his youngest sister. Doren knew he had to choose a starting point to begin his training.
Doren listened to his youngest sister's words, the profound stillness of her power settling over him like a warm blanket. She saw her magic as a refuge, a quiet calm in the face of the world's chaos. For a moment, Doren considered that path. The idea of a power that simply absorbed and brought peace seemed like a perfect, safe starting point. After all, he had spent a decade being still, a quiet ghost in his own home. It felt like an easy, natural extension of himself.
He dismissed the path of chaos immediately. Damurah's fire was all rage and fury, a volatile force that had nearly destroyed his projects and, more importantly, a force that had been given to his eldest brother in a state of desperation. It was a scary subject to even think about, much less to wield. He had seen what chaos could do to his brother, and he wanted no part of it.
That left him with the path of stability, the grounding power of earth that Daria possessed, and the hopeful light of Jemsie. This, he reasoned, was the best place to start. A power that was rooted, strong, and unwavering. A power that didn't just absorb chaos, but actively pushed against it. He knew that the world was now a dangerous place, and his family needed a new foundation. A rock to stand on.
He stood up, looking out the window at the distant horizon where Nergal had flown away. He closed his eyes, a pang of longing echoing in his chest. He wished his father were here to guide him, to tell him if he was making the right choice. He wished Nergal was here, a final anchor before he cast off on this new journey. But they were gone. He was alone.
The time for wishing was over. The time for action had arrived.