Back in the underground room, under the throne room of Bastion City, Astaroth was currently guiding Aether around Phoenix as she concentrated on her senses.
Up to now, the progress had been much slower than what the pair had expected, but comfortably within Aravelle's expectations. After all, not just any mage could sense Aether, let alone wield it.
If she had grasped it in a few hours, he would have thought her a prodigy. Already, he had doubts about Astaroth's talents, given his extremely low affinity to most elemental magics.
Finding another dubious mage, with capacities that went beyond their training, would have made him question the world's logic. After all, it was all predetermined by the world's will, at the birth of a person, whether they would be great mages or not.
Just as it had designated him as a Progenitor when he came to be.
