Yesterday, 12:31 AM
When Anita’s comfort turned toward him, something tightened beneath Quillon’s composure. A child lay trembling on his bed, her breath shallow and uncertain, and yet Anita spared concern for him. He did not need it.
His hand paused only briefly in the drawer before continuing its search. If irritation stirred in him, it did not reach his voice. Only a slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed it. When he glanced up, the look could easily have been mistaken for focus rather than offense, for he offered no words to accompany it.
He found the copper disk wrapped in cloth at the back of the drawer. The metal was elemental copper, etched with the sigil of converging lines that marked his Personal Flame. The edges had been worn smooth with handling. He lifted it carefully and stepped back toward the bed where Penny lay.
He did not ask Anita to step away nor did he request silence. As Veilwarden, he was taught to center himself amid noise, doubt, and fear alike. Yet there remained a reverence in the way he moved, as though the act itself demanded discipline.
He raised the disk to eye level and drew in a slow, controlled breath. The first moments of veil walking.
The threads responded, not in spectacle or visible fire, but as a gathering warmth behind his sternum. The memory of white light and impossible heat flickered at the edge of his awareness, and he allowed only enough of it forward to infuse what was required. The copper disk warmed gradually between his palms, first to body temperature and then beyond, until it carried a steady pulse of contained heat.
He lowered the disk and placed it carefully atop the blankets above Penny’s waist.
Spreading his hands outward, he guided the energy around her. He did not drive the heat upward, for flame would have been wasteful and dangerous. Instead, he pressed it outward and thinned it into the surrounding air. Fire wove into Air, and the currents within the room shifted subtly in response. The air above the bedding thickened and slowed, folding inward to form a narrow sheath that clung close to the blankets. The layer was invisible, but it held the warmth in place rather than allowing it to dissipate into the chill of the room. The heat that gathered beneath that barrier was steady and controlled, not sharp enough to burn, but sufficient to push back the cold.
A sheen of sweat formed along his temple for the efforts. He could feel the balance tipping and corrected it with minute adjustments. If he allowed too much energy to flow, the copper would flare and the blankets would overheat. If he faltered, the warmth would bleed away and the effort would be wasted. His jaw tightened as he redistributed a swell of excess heat, smoothing it through the insulating layer until the temperature stabilized.
And there he stayed until she was well.
His hand paused only briefly in the drawer before continuing its search. If irritation stirred in him, it did not reach his voice. Only a slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed it. When he glanced up, the look could easily have been mistaken for focus rather than offense, for he offered no words to accompany it.
He found the copper disk wrapped in cloth at the back of the drawer. The metal was elemental copper, etched with the sigil of converging lines that marked his Personal Flame. The edges had been worn smooth with handling. He lifted it carefully and stepped back toward the bed where Penny lay.
He did not ask Anita to step away nor did he request silence. As Veilwarden, he was taught to center himself amid noise, doubt, and fear alike. Yet there remained a reverence in the way he moved, as though the act itself demanded discipline.
He raised the disk to eye level and drew in a slow, controlled breath. The first moments of veil walking.
The threads responded, not in spectacle or visible fire, but as a gathering warmth behind his sternum. The memory of white light and impossible heat flickered at the edge of his awareness, and he allowed only enough of it forward to infuse what was required. The copper disk warmed gradually between his palms, first to body temperature and then beyond, until it carried a steady pulse of contained heat.
He lowered the disk and placed it carefully atop the blankets above Penny’s waist.
Spreading his hands outward, he guided the energy around her. He did not drive the heat upward, for flame would have been wasteful and dangerous. Instead, he pressed it outward and thinned it into the surrounding air. Fire wove into Air, and the currents within the room shifted subtly in response. The air above the bedding thickened and slowed, folding inward to form a narrow sheath that clung close to the blankets. The layer was invisible, but it held the warmth in place rather than allowing it to dissipate into the chill of the room. The heat that gathered beneath that barrier was steady and controlled, not sharp enough to burn, but sufficient to push back the cold.
A sheen of sweat formed along his temple for the efforts. He could feel the balance tipping and corrected it with minute adjustments. If he allowed too much energy to flow, the copper would flare and the blankets would overheat. If he faltered, the warmth would bleed away and the effort would be wasted. His jaw tightened as he redistributed a swell of excess heat, smoothing it through the insulating layer until the temperature stabilized.
And there he stayed until she was well.
![[Image: Quillon-signature.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/Quillon-signature.jpg)