The pronouncement of the Eldest Lyraen hung in the luminous air of the Heartwood long after she had retreated into the deeper sanctums of the colossal tree, leaving Alex standing alone with Kaelen, the weight of an entire ancient civilization's expectations settling onto his shoulders. He was to learn their ways, master his storm-born power, and somehow prove he wasn't a "blight" upon their world. No pressure.
Kaelen, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the turmoil within him. Her usually stoic expression softened with a hint of sympathy as she placed a slender hand on his arm – not the one still tender from the Gloom Stalker's claws. The touch was light, yet grounding.
"The Eldest's words are heavy, sky-fallen," her voice resonated in his mind, a gentle counterpoint to Lyraen's powerful pronouncements. "But they are not without hope. She has granted you sanctuary, and a teacher. That is more than most outsiders ever receive from the Silvanesti."
"A teacher who has to make sure I don't accidentally tear a hole in reality," Alex muttered, running a hand through his hair. The Silvanesti garb Kaelen had given him was comfortable, but he still felt like an imposter, a barbarian dressed in borrowed finery. "Where do we even start? 'How to Not Be a Cosmic Anomaly 101'?"
A rare, genuine smile touched Kaelen's lips, the bioluminescent patterns on her high cheekbones shimmering. "Something like that. Though our curriculum tends to be less… formally titled." She gestured towards the exit of the Heartwood dome. "Come. Your first lesson begins not with your power, Alex Maxwell, but with the world that now holds you. You cannot hope to control the storm within until you understand the currents of the Unheavens around you."
Their return journey from the Heartwood was different. Kaelen no longer treated him as a fragile convalescent, but as a student, albeit a very ignorant one. She moved with her usual silent grace through the high canopy pathways, but now she paused frequently, pointing out subtleties he had missed before. She showed him how the direction of the wind, a whisper through the colossal leaves, could speak of approaching weather or the passage of large creatures below. She taught him to identify the faint, almost invisible shimmer in the air that marked the presence of a Weave-thread, a conduit of the forest's energy, and how the Silvanesti used these to communicate, to heal, to shape their arboreal homes.
He learned that the glowing mosses and fungi were not just sources of light, but also integral parts of the forest's complex ecosystem, breaking down fallen matter, providing sustenance for certain creatures, and even acting as warning systems – some would change color or intensity in the presence of specific dangers or toxins. He saw how the Silvanesti lived in symbiosis with this luminous world, their dwellings grown from living wood, their tools crafted from natural materials, their lives interwoven with the rhythms of the forest.
It was overwhelming. His photographer's eye, once trained to capture fleeting moments of beauty or drama, struggled to process the sheer density of information, the layers upon layers of interconnected life. His mind, which Kaelen had described as "shouting," felt like it was trying to absorb an entire encyclopedia in a single sitting.
"Do not try to grasp it all at once, sky-fallen," Kaelen's mental voice soothed, sensing his frustration as he fumbled to identify a particular type of luminous beetle she'd pointed out. "The Weirdwood reveals its secrets slowly, to those who are patient, to those who listen with more than just their ears."
"Listen with what, then?" Alex asked, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. The air in the canopy was humid, thick with the scent of damp earth and unknown blossoms.
Kaelen tapped a finger to her temple, then to her chest. "With your mind. With your spirit. The Weave is not merely a force to be manipulated; it is the lifeblood of this world, the song that sings all things into existence. To understand it, you must learn to feel its rhythm, to harmonize with its melody."
Easier said than done, Alex thought. His own internal "melody" felt more like a thrash metal concert.
Their first true "lesson" in controlling his power took place in a secluded grove, a small, sun-dappled clearing (or rather, canopy-filtered-light-dappled clearing) some distance from Tel'Syth. Kaelen had chosen the spot for its relative isolation and the strength of the Weave-threads that crisscrossed it, hoping their ambient energy might help Alex stabilize his own.
"The Eldest saw you move outside the Weave," Kaelen began, her amber eyes serious as she faced him. "That is… unprecedented. And potentially very dangerous. Your power does not draw upon the established currents of this world. It seems to create its own, or perhaps it tears open momentary rifts into… somewhere else."
Alex shivered, despite the warmth of the clearing. "Somewhere else? Like… another dimension?" The comic book terminology sounded absurd even to his own ears, but what other explanation was there?
"Perhaps. The Unheavens are but one leaf on an infinite tree, sky-fallen. There are other… forests." Kaelen's gaze was distant for a moment, as if contemplating those infinite possibilities. Then, she refocused on him. "What we must first achieve is control. Precision. Your bursts of speed are raw, uncontrolled. You expend too much energy, and you risk… collateral damage." She gestured to a nearby tree trunk that bore a faint, ozone-tinged scorch mark – a souvenir from one of his earlier, less successful practice jumps near Tel'Syth before their visit to Lyraen, one he'd hoped Kaelen hadn't noticed. So much for elven subtlety.
"So, no more pinballing across the landscape," Alex said wryly.
"Precisely." Kaelen picked up a small, smooth river stone. "Your task is simple. Move this stone from my hand to that stump," she indicated a moss-covered stump about ten feet away, "without physically touching it, and without moving from your spot. Use your… your inner storm."
Alex stared at the stone, then at the stump. "You want me to use the Speed Force to… what? Create a tiny hurricane? Telekinesis? That's not really how it works. I move. Things around me sometimes get… affected. But I don't consciously move other objects."
"Yet, when you moved that shrapnel on the battlefield, as your mind echoes it, it was not you who flew, but the metal. You perceived time differently. You interacted with an object at a speed that rendered its normal momentum… negotiable." Kaelen's understanding of his power, gleaned from his "shouting" mind, was unnervingly accurate.
He had done that, hadn't he? He'd seen the shrapnel, frozen in mid-air, and had somehow… nudged it? Or had he simply moved so fast around it that it seemed to be still, allowing him to interact with it? His memory of those moments was a blur of adrenaline and impossible perception.
"I… I don't know how I did that," he admitted. "It just… happened."
"Then we will learn how it happened," Kaelen said patiently. "Focus, Alex Maxwell. Feel the energy within you. The source of your speed. Do not unleash it in a torrent. Seek a single thread of that storm. A gentle breeze, not a hurricane. And direct that breeze towards the stone."
Alex closed his eyes, trying to dredge up the feeling. The hum was there, stronger now, a restless energy coiling in his core. He imagined it as a tightly wound spring, as Kaelen had once described it. He tried to visualize uncoiling just a tiny fraction of it, a single strand of that immense power. He focused on the stone in Kaelen's outstretched hand, trying to project his intent, his will.
Nothing. The stone remained motionless. Kaelen's expression was unreadable.
He tried again, frustration mounting. He pushed harder, trying to force the energy out. He felt a familiar jolt, a surge of power, but it was too much, too sudden.
SNAP!
He hadn't moved the stone. He'd moved himself. He was suddenly standing right in front of Kaelen, their noses almost touching, the air crackling with ozone. He stumbled back, mortified, the now-familiar wave of dizziness and nausea washing over him.
Kaelen didn't flinch, though her amber eyes widened slightly. A faint scent of singed ozone, a signature of his power, clung to the air between them.
"Less hurricane, more… unexpected gust," she observed, her mental voice dry, though her lips twitched with a suppressed smile. "You are still thinking of moving your entire being, sky-fallen. The energy responds to your deepest instinct, which is currently self-preservation through flight. You must separate the intent to manipulate from the intent to move."
"Easier said than done," Alex grumbled, rubbing his temples. "It's like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach while tap-dancing on a tightrope over a pit of Gloom Stalkers."
Kaelen actually chuckled at that, a low, melodious sound that sent a surprising warmth through him. "An apt, if somewhat dramatic, analogy. The Silvanesti have a saying: 'The smallest stream, guided, can carve the greatest canyon.' Control begins with the smallest, most focused application of will."
They spent hours in that clearing. Alex tried again and again, with Kaelen's patient guidance. He tried focusing on his breathing, on the rhythms of the forest around him, trying to find a sense of inner calm that seemed antithetical to the raging storm of his power. He managed to make the stone tremble a few times, to create a faint breeze that ruffled Kaelen's hair, but every attempt to truly move it with his mind, with a focused burst of the Speed Force, either resulted in nothing, or in him accidentally jumping a few feet in a random direction.
The frustration was immense. He was used to his body responding to his will, to his camera capturing the images he envisioned. This… this was like trying to paint a masterpiece with a firehose. The power was there, undeniably, but it was wild, untamed, and utterly resistant to his attempts at finesse.
Exhausted and disheartened, he finally slumped to the ground, burying his face in his hands. "I can't do this, Kaelen. I'm a photographer, not a… a psychic. Or a wizard. Or whatever the hell this is."
Kaelen sat beside him, her presence a quiet comfort. She didn't speak for a long moment, simply allowing him to vent his frustration. Then, she placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder.
"Your power is not like the Weave, Alex Maxwell," she said softly, her mental voice gentle. "It does not respond to the same incantations, the same patterns of thought that a Silvanesti mage might use. It is born of your world, of your experiences, of the very lightning that unmade and remade you. Perhaps you are trying to force it into a shape it does not recognize."
He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. "Then what do I do?"
"You spoke of your photography," Kaelen said, her amber eyes thoughtful. "Of capturing moments. Of freezing time. When you saw the shrapnel, when the world stilled for you… what did you feel? What did you do?"
Alex thought back to that moment on the battlefield. The chaos, the fear, and then… that sudden, absolute stillness. "I… I don't know," he said slowly, trying to recapture the sensation. "It was like… everything else stopped, and I was still moving. Or, I could move, if I wanted to. I saw the shrapnel, hanging there. I just… reached out. And it moved."
"You perceived time differently," Kaelen mused. "You entered a state where the normal flow of moments was… altered for you. Perhaps that is the key. Not to project force, but to alter your own relationship with the moment, and in doing so, alter the object's place within it."
It sounded like philosophical mumbo-jumbo, but there was a strange kind of logic to it, a logic that resonated with the impossible nature of his powers.
"Try again," Kaelen urged, her voice gentle but firm. "But this time, do not think of moving the stone. Think of… joining it in a single, shared moment, outside the normal flow. See it not as it is, but as it will be, on that stump. And then… simply allow yourself to be in that future moment with it."
Alex stared at her, a flicker of understanding, or perhaps just desperate hope, igniting within him. It was a completely different way of thinking about his power. Not as a force to be projected, but as a state of being to be entered.
He looked at the stone in Kaelen's hand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to empty his mind of everything but the stone, the stump, and the strange, crackling energy that was beginning to hum within him again, stronger now, as if responding to this new approach.
He didn't try to push. He didn't try to force. He simply… reached. Not with his hand, but with his perception, with his will. He imagined the stone resting on the mossy stump. He imagined the feel of its cool surface, the way the light would catch its facets. He tried to be in that moment, to see through the eyes of that future self who had already placed it there.
A strange sensation washed over him. The sounds of the forest faded. The hum of the Speed Force intensified, but it wasn't chaotic. It was… focused. He felt a subtle shift, not in his physical location, but in his perception of the world around him. It was as if the relentless march of time had, for a fraction of a second, stuttered, become pliable.
He opened his eyes.
The stone was gone from Kaelen's hand.
He looked at the stump.
There it was. Resting perfectly in the center of the mossy surface.
A gasp escaped Kaelen's lips, a soft, breathy sound of astonishment. Her amber eyes were wide, fixed on the stone, then on him. The bioluminescent patterns on her skin pulsed with a bright, almost dazzling light.
Alex stared, his own heart hammering. He hadn't felt a lurch, no dizziness, no nausea. Just… a subtle shift, a momentary disconnect, and then… success. He had moved the stone. He had actually done it.
A slow grin spread across his face, a grin of pure, unadulterated triumph. "I… I think I'm getting the hang of this," he said, his voice filled with a newfound confidence.
Kaelen was silent for a long moment, her gaze searching his face, a complex array of emotions swirling in her amber depths – surprise, awe, and something else, something that looked almost like… apprehension.
"Indeed, sky-fallen," she finally said, her mental voice a little shaky. "It would seem you are. You have taken your first true step on a path no one in the Unheavens has ever walked before." She looked from him to the stone, then back again. "And I confess, Alex Maxwell… I am not entirely sure where that path will lead."
But as Alex looked at the small, insignificant stone resting on the stump, a symbol of his first, tiny victory in this impossible world, he felt a surge of exhilaration that had nothing to do with fear. He was still a long way from mastering the storm within. But for the first time, he felt like he might, just might, learn to become its eye.