Theros stepped forward. “I’m going to bring you through my meditation process,” he said as he puffed up his chest. “I like to start by envisioning a golden ball of light hovering over my chest.”
He pressed a hand against his sternum and closed his eyes.
Sounds fake.
“I envision the light growing in size and expanding, until it surrounds my entire body.”
He paused.
“Then . . . the tingling starts in my brain.”
He spread his arms wide, palms up.
I learned something: grown men should never say the word tingling aloud.
It made it weird.
“The feeling is impossible to ignore,” Theros continued. “It’s an all-consuming relief... like when youfinallyscratch an itch that’s been bothering you for hours. I envision the glow solidifying, and the tingling sensation intensifies until I can feel power pounding through my skull.”
I’d never experienced anything remotely closeto what he was describing.
I’m definitely powerless. There’s been a big mistake.
The air around Theros warped like it had thickened around him.
He opened his eyes and smirked cockily.
Augustus stepped forward and said, “Theros has now engaged his ability.”
Without warning, Augustus pulled his fist back and slammed it toward Theros’s face. His arm stopped in midair and a dull vibration echoed, like he’d punched something solid.
Theros spread his arms wide, unharmed by the fist hovering a foot in front of his face. His vulture flapped its wings. “No person or thing can touch me, not once I’ve engaged my shield.” He smirked like he was invincible.
Augustus dropped his arm and smiled back. “How long can you hold it?” he asked.
“My longest is two hours—but who knows.” Theros winked (at me? help) and flexed. “Every day, I push mylimits farther.”
Augustus’s smile disappeared. He glared at Theros like he was dirt underneath his booth.Why the sudden change in demeanor?
I would have clapped for Theros, but I didn’t have the strength to lift my hands and put them together. Also... people didn’t deserve praise.
No one in the class reacted.
We all agreed.
If Theros had given this demonstration at the beginning of the week—before the hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and overall discomfort had set in—maybe we would have been more impressed.
A few initiates blinked rapidly and rocked like they were trying not to fall asleep (I was one of them).
Theros stopped flexing and looked chagrined.
“Please explain to the class the limitations of your ability,” Augustus ordered, his features harsh. Any traces of congeniality were gone.
Why did he just look at me when he said “ability”?
Theros’s face scrunched like he’d tasted something sour. Next to Augustus’s fearsome countenance, he looked like a child playing dress-up in a crown.
Augustus was either unimpressed with the presentation or annoyed that Poco had half his ponytail in his mouth.
