Bainin
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Chapter 9: Heart to Heart
🕑 Added 2025-03-18 08:21:33 +0000 UTCAsterion sat up. "Yes, sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak away, I…" But before he could finish, his father raised a hand and sat down beside him on the large blanket.
"You're not in trouble, I just wanted to check on you," his father said. "You've been going out a lot at night since I came back. I hope you aren’t upset with me."
"What?" Asterion blinked. "No, I just come out here to practice and watch the stars.”
He noticed his father glancing between him and the telescope, his expression softening slightly.
"Asterion, you’ve got sharp senses. You can tell what I’m feeling, right?"
Asterion hesitated, studying his father’s face. He could already tell from his expression that he was concerned, but his aura reflected the same emotions.
"You’re worried," Asterion said, wrapping his arms around his knees.
"And you’re frustrated. Angry," his father replied. "How do you think I found you so easily?"
Asterion just shrugged, and his father placed a hand on his shoulder. "I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s unhealthy to hold on to emotions like that."
"Are you angry at me for leaving you and your mother behind, or are you fighting with one of your friends?" his father asked gently.
But Asterion only felt more irritation—at himself—for making his father worry and blame himself.
"I’m not mad at you or my friends, it’s just…" He trailed off, catching himself. He didn’t want to admit that he was out here, silently seething at his own inability.
"Then what is it?" his father pressed, clearly unwilling to let the topic drop.
"Is it your teacher? You don’t have to worry—I’ll hear you out."
Asterion’s frustration boiled over. His father kept listing people, trying to place the blame anywhere but where it truly belonged.
"It’s none of them—it’s me! I’m the one letting you down!" Asterion yelled, looking up at his father.
The words had barely left his mouth before regret sank in. His stomach dropped as his father’s expression grew grim.
But before he could move, his father pulled him into a firm embrace, holding him in place with strong arms. The warmth of his body was striking against the cool night air, grounding Asterion in the moment.
"Why would you think that?" his father asked softly, still holding him close. "You’re not letting anyone down. Everyone I’ve spoken to has only praise for you—and I’m proud of you."
Asterion fought against the emotions welling up inside him, blinking back tears as he clung tightly to his father.
"But I can’t seem to get it," he said, his voice unsteady. "My awakening isn’t coming, and I can’t get the power our family needs."
His father pushed him away, and Asterion’s stomach twisted with dread, expecting admonishment. But when he met his father’s eyes, they were soft, though his expression remained concerned."
"Asterion, even if you never awaken that power, nobody will blame you," his father said gently, his voice steady yet warm.
Asterion opened his mouth to interject, but his father pressed on.
"The powers you awaken are yours and yours alone. They are a reflection of you—your soul—not something you or anyone else can demand into being. It isn’t something that can be forced, nor should it be expected simply because of your essencia or heritage.
If it’s a part of you, it will come. But trying to will it into existence just because it’s what you—or anyone else—expects is a fool’s errand. Let it go.”
He gave Asterion’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "No matter what happens, your mother and I will always be on your side. That will never change, no matter what the future brings."
Asterion stayed quiet, his father’s words settling in slowly, like ripples on a still pond. He wanted to believe him. He really did. But the frustration still lingered—just a little.
His father gently pulled him into a hug, grounding him. "Give it time," he said softly. "You don’t have to figure everything out tonight."
It took Asterion a moment, but he returned the hug. They stayed like that for a while, neither speaking—just existing beneath the brilliance of the night sky.
Eventually, his father broke the silence. "Now, why don’t we watch the stars with that telescope before heading home?"
Asterion nodded shakily, wiping away the lingering tears with mild embarrassment.
He showed his father how to set up the telescope, then adjusted it until it focused on the brightest star in the sky—one of the closer suns, and one of the few they could observe in fine detail.
“It has been a while since I looked at this star through this telescope,” His father commented as he looked through the telescope leaving Asterion confused.
Asterion furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
His father remained silent for a moment, still looking through the telescope, before letting out a slow sigh. When he finally spoke, there was hesitation in his voice.
"Your teacher and my grandfather go way back," he said. "He asked to borrow this telescope once. It was the one I used when I awakened my Sun aspect."
He paused, then continued, his voice quieter. "I once felt the same pressure you do—the weight of expectations, the push to awaken a power that wasn’t me. Everyone hoped I’d inherit the Sun aspect. And I hated it. I didn’t want it."
His gaze drifted upward as if recalling a distant memory. "I resented the pressure. I resented the expectations. And without realizing it, I started denying a part of myself. I didn’t understand it back then, but I was closing myself off. Then, one night, I looked through this telescope and saw another sun. And something changed. I was mesmerized by its beauty, and for the first time, my heart… opened. I stopped resisting. I let myself accept what was already inside me."
Asterion shook his head vehemently. "I’m different. I want this power. I want to help!"
His father studied him for a long moment before shaking his own head—not in dismissal, but in quiet understanding. "I’m sure your teacher hopes this telescope can do the same for you. And I won’t lie—I share that hope." He sighed. "But I also believe your struggle is different from mine. You aren’t denying yourself out of resentment. You’re pressuring yourself. You work hard, and that’s commendable. But is it what you want?"
His father met his eyes, steady and sincere.
"What is it that you truly want?"
Asterion paused, having been ready to refute his father’s comparison—but he couldn’t find the words.
What do I want?
"Again, you can think about this—I don’t expect an answer," his father began, but Asterion cut him off.
"I want to be free," Asterion said, his voice firm. "And I want to be strong enough to protect you—all of you. I don’t want to be stuck creating portals while you’re out there risking your life. I want to help. I want to fight."
His father’s grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, his bright smile widening with pride. "Son, you are a true child of the Ferridian Republic! Nobody will hold you back if you strive for greatness and drive back the void, least of all your family." His voice brimmed with conviction. "No matter what abilities you awaken, your path is yours to take—and we will stand with you."
He paused, his eyes gleaming as he studied Asterion. "Spatial mages were among the most powerful sorcerers and battle mages to ever walk Elystria. That’s why so many were targeted during the wars. It wasn’t just because of their ability to create gates," he said, letting out a small chuckle and shaking his head. "People nowadays think of them as scholars or support casters, like alchemists or healers. But grandfather told us stories about them—space mages could reshape entire battlefields, turning the tide of war."
Asterion felt excitement swell within him as he listened to his father, the passion in his voice infectious.
"Becoming a spatial mage doesn’t mean you have to stay behind and hide—not if that isn’t you. If this is the path you want, then take it with everything you have. No hesitation, no doubt."
When his father’s index finger tapped against his chest to emphasize his point, Asterion felt the pressure of the touch—but more than that, he felt the space between them lessen.
The missing piece.
The barriers he had unknowingly erected crumbled. The trepidation and reluctance that had gnawed at him weren’t completely gone, but for the first time, he felt like he could not only accept his fears—he could face them.
And when he did, magic surged within him. It felt as if the inside of his head was both aflame and adrift—burning yet floating, weightless yet overwhelming. It wasn’t painful, but the sheer intensity of it made his balance falter.
His father caught him instantly, but even that small motion sent another wave of overstimulation crashing through him. Asterion's senses expanded beyond sight, beyond touch—he could feel everything around them.
The ground beneath them wasn’t just solid earth anymore; he could sense the winding burrows threading through it, the tiny, furry bodies of unseen creatures moving within. His awareness stretched through their tunnels, tracing their frantic scurrying as if space itself had opened to him.
His mind reeled as he tried to pull his focus away from the overwhelming sensations. Slowly, the chaos around him settled, his perception shifting from wild and erratic to structured and ordered. It felt like his mind was rising from the depths of chaos, the flames within him finally dying down.
For a brief moment, relief washed over him.
Then the pain struck.
A headache unlike anything he had ever felt before—crushing, searing agony, as if his brain were tearing itself apart. He couldn’t suppress the scream that tore from his lips.
He never even noticed when his father picked him up and carried him away. His senses surged outward in every direction, rushing beyond walls, beyond distances, beyond control—until the sheer vastness and pain of it all swallowed him whole.
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When Asterion regained consciousness, the flood of sensory input nearly overwhelmed him again. Though not as intense as before, it was still too much. He felt everything—not just the pain pulsing in his skull, but the sharp scent of herbs in the air, the soft murmurs of his mother and father as they realized he was awake.
And beyond them, he sensed someone else.
A woman?
She moved swiftly, leaving the room in a hurry, her footsteps rushing down the stairs. He hadn't opened his eyes, yet he watched her go, his awareness tracking her every step until she reached the threshold of his perception and vanished.
He groaned, the weight of it all pressing down on him, but before he could dwell on the strangeness of it, his mother’s touch grounded him—her hand warm against his cheek, another resting gently on his shoulder.
When he opened his eyes, he was met with blinding light and the worried faces of his parents. Just how much time had passed since he had lost consciousness?
"What time is it?"
His voice came out as a croak, his throat parched. His mother was quick to offer him a cup. He reached for it—only to grasp at empty air. His sense of space and balance was completely off. Confusion and worry welled up inside him as his fingers and arms flailed uselessly.
"Calm down, son. It’s all right. Take it slow," his father told him.
Before he could ask more questions, his mother pressed the cup to his lips and tilted it gently, forcing him to drink first, talk later. The cool water soothed his throat, but his mind raced.
"What is going on? What happened to me?" Asterion asked once his mother had taken the cub away, doing his best to remain calm as he tried to push himself off the bed—only to struggle again, his balance failing him. His limbs felt unsteady, his perception wrong, his body willing to cooperate, but his mind refusing to follow.
"Son, your teacher should arrive soon," his father reassured him. "He will try his best to help you and explain what happened."
Asterion closed his eyes again, finding it easier to see and orient himself that way. As he sat upright, looking at his mother and father, their faces came into focus, concern and worry evident.
Then he sensed her return.
She wasn’t alone.
The shape and intense mana signature of Mr. Seitz registered in his awareness at once.
"He is already here," Asterion said, looking down at an angle where their door was while simultaneously watching his parents exchange another worried glance.
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