Recently, the trial had been rather heavy on his mind. Or more like, Yves was. He felt increasingly more pressured to communicate with his father the more times Yves mentioned it in their conversations, but the more stressed he was about it, the thinner the tether to Poseidonâs domain seemed to get. The earth no longer trembled beneath him, and the waters were still, almost like Poseidon had gone radio silent. It was frustrating, to say the least, to try and narrow his focus so he could feel somewhat in control again. The neglected cigar between his fingers was running short as Viktor zoned out, deep in thought in front of the lake. The thick blocks of ice on the waterâs surface groaned, but not by his doing.
He barely acknowledged Kianâs presence when it was near, or the sting of the embers finally reaching his fingers after heâd gone long enough without a hit. âHow do you do it?â he asked. âYou magic boys. You act like this has been part of you your entire life.â How did Credence feel so at home in a thunderstorm, and how did Kian manipulate his motherâs magic like a second nature?
@btchcrftâ
