set shortly after The Little Forgemaster

White legs flicked and pulled, the stag's body sweeping into Polaris with a graceful stride. Behind him, Ember followed: hulking by now, growing into an enormous heritage. He didn't fly, not now; but he sort of lumbered along, still with the clumsiness of youth. Ember wasn't fully-grown, not yet. But he would be soon, and he'd be big.

Pride was telling him a story, as they walked: quiet, easygoing, something to help him forget the rather lacking information he'd just imparted--back in Orion--about Ember's stonegiver. He'd explained what Fireheart had been like, how (vaguely) he had died, and shown him a light-imbued image of him. But... Ember'd been disappointed in Pride's ignorance of his stonegiver. And Pride had been confronted with the fact that he'd never known Fireheart enough to truly tell his only child about him. Nobody, so far as he knew, had truly known Fireheart well.

He knew the glinting Clinohumite that rested in Ember's forehead had once been settled in the breast of a white wolf; that the wolf had come and trained here, in Polaris, as they were about to do. Past that..? He knew woefully little, only that Fireheart had been noble, courageous, and strong.

The story, however, was nothing like any of that.

He'd told a winding tale, as they'd walked, of plants that had come alive; that had experienced the world of the caves around them, trying to make sense of the world in which they found themselves. It was a world without Gembounds, a world with floating, flashing lights. And now the tale wound to a close, and Ember had remained raptly (or perhaps respectfully) silent all along. "When the last of the lights faded, so did the plants: like a lullaby, the dark sang them back to sleep, and they returned to slumber. But they would dream of all they'd learned, and awaken another day; and they would share what they had learned with those that came later."

He came to a halt near the Spire, hooves clicking on the rock and then falling silent. His armor glinted across his flanks, his head lifting to regard the glimmering stone before them. "Be careful not to get too close, Ember. Its power is great." It can melt a Gembound, tear them apart in screaming agony, and sometimes--perhaps--remake them... "Magic here is more fickle--stronger, but less predictable. That's what makes it a good place to train. If you can get a strong grip on it here, you can control it anywhere."

He turned to face his son. "Do you feel it?" he asked, head tilting to one side.

Emberheart stepped forward, coming up alongside Pride, lifting flameglow eyes to the Spire. The story had kept his mind wandering, though it wasn't quite as fascinating as some that his parents had told him in the past. It wasn't one that he'd forget; the lights had been pretty to think of, at least. But he held little interest in plants, living or otherwise, though he didn't dislike them either. At the very least, it had served its intended purpose--Fireheart was gone from his mind, for now, the morose disappointment he'd felt now faded.

The Spire, however, was at once much more interesting than the story had been.

His head lifted a notch higher, nostrils working to take in the faintly ozone scent, ears pricking up to catch the crackle of magic along its surface.

"What made it?" he asked softly, glancing to his father. "Why is it that powerful? I can feel it," he confirmed, a little belatedly.

A faint glow flared around him, settling into his eyes; he warmed, heat shimmering through his fur. It was not powerful, but it came, and it didn't feel much different from normal, to Ember. "But my magic seems... normal," he said.

"I'm not sure who made it," Pride admitted, turning with clacks of cloven hooves to fully face Ember. His gaze was placid, but focused. "But this is where we'll practice. As for why it is how it is--I know it carries a great deal of magic. It feels as though it's trying to break free; like there's too much, almost, for the stone to handle. But thus far it has been... relatively safe. Just don't touch it," he repeated.

"Let's start with what you know, then." Observant eyes took note that Ember's own were glowing a little more brightly. It was sometimes hard to tell when he was drawing on his magic, given the already-flaming eyes he seemed to have inherited from Dread.

"You're capable of heating your paws, right? Or giving off light?" he suggested, studying the child for any sign of magic.

Ember settled in to a similar pose, upright and calm, attentive. He looked to Pride, listening, and considered. One quiet exhale later, he spoke. "Yes, and other, smaller things," he answered. "I know the shield you taught me, and I can make music--make my body sort of... chime, a little. I do not know where that magic comes from," he added, with a gentle shrug. "But I prefer my fire."

It was, perhaps, more verbose than normal; more well-spoken, but he rarely had reason to be particularly talkative. He glanced down, and took one slow step forward, then another: magic flared, his paws growing hot--searing, but he bit back the pain--and smoldering the rock in his path to ash. A few steps and he let it fade, looking up to Pride.

He wondered where his father would go with these lessons; he did want to learn. Magic wasn't something he'd delved too deeply into, but he found he had both an affinity for it, and a hidden spark of interest. It was the sort of spark that could--with stoking--turn into a fiery passion, as both his true fathers had carried.

Pride observed, dipping his head, trying not to wrinkle up his nose at the smell of burning hair and crumbling, superheated rock.

"Very good," he began. "Strong, and it seems reliable. Steady. Now, I know we've covered the basics. But I do want to talk a bit about the uses of magic," he added, silver eyes flashing solemnly up to meet Ember's own once again. "There is magic such as you often use--for crafting, for example, or for utility. Your light, your melting of things to fix the armor that you find. Then there are other magics. For mending wounds, for growing plants; for fighting." Pride glanced to his right--there was no other motion--and a nearby rock, perhaps ten feet away and a few inches across, exploded into white fire. It took a moment's focus to do it, so that there was a long pause of silence, but as it burned he looked back to Ember.

...With the afterimage burning in his eyes. Damn it; I forgot to look away. Or to warn him to. Ahh, well; they'd both recover. "Utility magic, for the most part, is not... dangerous. For the most part," he repeated, with emphasis. "And a light, well; if you fail at creating a light, there simply is not a light. But offensive magic-? You will need it--even if you do not want to learn too much of it, you will need ways to defend yourself. And you must practice these magics, for if these fail at a precarious moment, it can mean your death." He tried not to pause, not to think about the imagery his mind had formed of Fireheart burning alive. "And these magics are also powerful, more often than not, so that if they backfire due to a lack of practice, they can even be directly dangerous to you." He had, more than once, glossed over the fate of Aster: the dog who'd shattered her own leg as a puppy, when Pride had been little more than a fresh-born calf. He'd had to hunt for her, to keep her alive, and it wasn't something he ever wanted to see repeated--especially in his own children.

"So I'd like to teach you, at least, something to defend yourself. Aside from the shield, there is a simple magic--the one I've told you about before; the one that can throw things from your path, if you are interested in learning it..?" he asked.

Actual telekinetic magic would always be more useful, he knew--but a little harder to learn and master. At least this could serve as an emergency blast to help Ember survive a dangerous situation--as long as he didn't break his own leg nearly off.

@Ember

Thick-furred ears swept toward the source of the sudden white fire, Ember staring rapt at what Pride had done. He'd never seen that magic before, and it fascinated him, and after a moment he stepped a little closer. Not too close.

"What was that?" he asked, softly, emberglow eyes lifting to peer at Pride.

As for the beginnings of his lesson, though, he absorbed it all in attentive silence. He may have looked dull, but he was considering the words clearly enough.

"I'll learn it," he agreed at last, quietly.

There was not much else to say.

@Pride

Pride had hoped for some form of acknowledgment--some affirmation that Ember had understood his warnings. He was disappointed in that hope, but in fairness he should have asked if Ember'd understood. He tried that now, just to be safe, but tucked it into careful, tactful phrasing. "All right, we'll try. You understand the warnings I gave you, yes-? It's very important that we don't start, and then you leave this magic half-learned, because it can be dangerous," he repeated.

Given confirmation, he continued: he nudged a small rock into place a few feet before the cub. Then he turned, stepping with soft clicks of his hooves to come alongside Ember. "Focus on that rock," he suggested, voice soft. He came to a halt, and let the silence pool for a moment.

"Concentrate on your own gemstone, too. On the power between it, and you. The space between you. The link that you can forge. Focus on your own power, and send it out--raw, your power shaped by your will, to blast forward untethered."

He tried to give a demonstration, to show his child how it was done, but nothing came. Nothing at all. It felt almost fractured, for a moment, but--nothing gave, either, his skill with the spell at least preventing it from slamming off his own damn legs, or something.

Wouldn't that have been a fine first lesson-? At least it would have properly demonstrated the spell's inherent dangers...

@Ember

Ember listened quietly, and then, dutifully, turned his gaze on the rock his father had set before them. He was unaware, of course, that Pride had tried (and failed). Instead he locked eyes on the stone, and tried to take the advice to heart.

To focus on his stone; to focus on the rock over there, on the power inherent in him and the way he could unleash it.

"I will try," he answered, despite the fact that Pride hadn't given him an explicit "go ahead." He'd fallen silent, which seemed to be Ember's cue.

He felt it build, build, and then--without knowing how exactly to let it go--Ember released the coiled power. A blast of kinetic energy cascaded out, rattling the dust and pebbles and shifting the rock in a tumbling clatter. Ember jerked, flinching, surprised; his eyes snapped back open in time to see the rock... well, rock to a halt.

Eyes wide, he turned to look up at Pride. "I did it," was all he said, softly, in surprise.

@Pride

Pride blinked in some surprise as the young hybrid performed the magic perfectly--without guidance, even, in the form of demonstration. "You did," he agreed, impressed, and it showed in his tone and in his face as he glanced to the child with a nod.

Maybe I did not fail him in my choice of life-giver, he thought abruptly, and then wondered if he'd been unfair before. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with Ember, but he'd wondered, sometimes, if Dread's simplicity had accidentally carried through and ruined Fireheart's legacy of powerful intellect coupled with that magic. If the child at least had magic-...

I wouldn't judge his worth on it, either way, Pride reminded himself. But he had felt bad, at little. Hm. He would see.

"I will try and throw a rock; see if you can hit it, all right?" This would be a little tougher, and if Ember couldn't do that, they'd go back to practicing on the ground.

A rock was lifted, carefully hefted by focused mind and magic. It was then thrown, gently lobbed upward, and outward. "See if you can hit that," Pride instructed, gently.

Ember stared, still in awe, at the rock he'd shot away. Pride praised him, but it was barely heard; only the stag's instructions to try again (and on a moving object, this time!) really registered. Flameglow eyes blinked back up at him, and Ember hesitated.

Could he do this-?

He had barely enough time to focus when the rock was in the air, hefted by unseen magics, and he tried to gather a blast in time. There just wasn't enough--it was still barely swelling in his gemstone, in his head, as the rock fell away again.

"Can you... go slower?" he suggested, quietly. "I wasn't ready, yet."

@Pride