"You've had enough time to recover," Armand said, his voice low and steady. "Now it's time to see what remains."
Avery dipped his head, letting a hint of nervousness creep into his movements. "Of course, Father. I'll try my best."
"Try?" Armand repeated, his tone sharp enough to make Avery flinch. "The Nightshades do not try. We succeed. Anything less is failure."
"Yes, Father," Avery murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He shifted his weight, allowing his hands to twitch slightly, a deliberate display of hesitation.
Armand gestured toward the sigils on the floor. "You will begin with a basic summoning spell. Simple enough that even a child can manage it."
Avery moved to the center of the nearest sigil, his mind racing. A summoning spell. The words meant nothing to him—Elias's memories, fragmented and incomplete, offered no guidance. He crouched slightly, placing his hands on the etched lines of the sigil, hoping the action looked convincing.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Think, Avery. If you can't perform magic, at least make them believe it's not your fault.
When he opened his eyes, he raised one hand over the sigil, recalling how magic had been described during overheard conversations—an extension of will, a command imposed on reality.
Nothing happened.
He furrowed his brow, feigning confusion, then shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear it.
"Again," Armand commanded, his tone like a whip.
Avery tried again, this time muttering nonsense words under his breath, hoping it would look like an incantation. The sigil flickered faintly but produced no results.
Armand's expression didn't change, but Avery could feel the weight of his disappointment.
"It's… harder than I thought," Avery said, his voice shaking just enough to sell the performance. He glanced up at Armand, forcing a flicker of frustration and embarrassment onto his face. "I don't understand. It should work, but it doesn't feel right."
Armand stepped forward, his boots heavy against the stone floor. He loomed over Avery, his eyes narrowing. "Memory loss does not erase ability. Whatever has broken in you must be repaired—quickly."
The sigil remained dark, its etched lines lifeless despite Avery's repeated attempts. He crouched over it, his hand hovering just above its center, his face a carefully curated mask of frustration. Inside, his mind raced. How long can I keep this up before he demands results I can't fake?
"Enough."
Armand's sharp voice cut through the silence like a blade. His footsteps echoed as he approached, each one carrying the weight of his growing displeasure. "You're wasting time, Elias. If your memory has truly failed you, then we'll approach this from another angle."
Avery straightened, his nerves taut. "Another angle?"
Armand crossed his arms, his piercing gaze locking onto Avery. "The Nightshade bloodline does not lose its connection to magic. It can weaken, yes, but it is always there, waiting to be awakened." He extended a hand, motioning for Avery to sit. "If you cannot recall how to channel it, then I will open your Third Eye myself."
Avery stiffened. Third Eye? Elias's fragmented memories offered no context, and he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "I—what does that involve, exactly?"
Armand's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Sit down. You'll see."
Reluctantly, Avery obeyed, lowering himself onto the cold stone floor. Armand moved behind him, placing a heavy hand on the top of his head. The weight of his touch sent an unnatural chill through Avery's body.
"You may feel discomfort," Armand said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Focus on the sensation. Let it guide you."
Before Avery could respond, he felt it—a faint, tingling warmth pressing into his scalp. The warmth spread, sinking deeper into his skull, threading through his mind like fine tendrils of fire.
At first, it was subtle, almost soothing. But as the streams of mana surged, the sensation intensified. The warmth turned searing, a crackling pain coursing through his brain. His vision blurred, colors fracturing into kaleidoscopic shapes, and his breath hitched.
"Stay still," Armand commanded, his grip tightening.
Avery clenched his jaw, the pressure mounting until it felt like his head might split open. Just as he thought he couldn't endure it any longer, the pain gave way to something… different.
A spark ignited deep within him, unfurling like a dormant flame suddenly fed by air. He gasped, his chest tightening as the sensation spread through his body—powerful, electric, and alive.
And then, he felt it.
Magic.
It coursed through him like a river finally freed from a dam, pulsing with an unfamiliar but undeniable rhythm. It wasn't just energy; it was connection—to the sigil, to the room, to something greater than himself.
"Good," Armand said, his voice calm but tinged with satisfaction. "You feel it now, don't you?"
"I…" Avery stammered, struggling to process the sensation. He nodded slowly. "Yes. I feel it."
"Then use it," Armand said, stepping back. "Summon something. Anything. Prove to me you are still a Nightshade."
Avery's hands trembled as he returned to the sigil. This time, the lines glowed faintly beneath his touch, responding to the magic coursing through him. He closed his eyes, focusing on the energy, willing it to move through him.
The air shifted, growing heavier, and a faint shimmer appeared above the sigil. Avery poured everything he could into the effort, pushing the magic forward. The shimmer solidified into a small, flickering wisp of light—fragile but real.
He opened his eyes, staring at the wisp in disbelief.
Armand stepped closer, his expression unreadable. He studied the wisp for a long moment before nodding. "Adequate. For now."
Relief washed over Avery, but it was short-lived as Armand's tone turned cold again. "This is only the beginning. You have much to relearn, and you will do so under far more demanding circumstances. Do not mistake this small victory for progress."
"Yes, Father," Avery said, bowing his head to hide the mixture of fear and exhilaration coursing through him.