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Chapter Text

Damien never really thought about it, about how much he knew. But Damien had been declared as a Warlock, and any stupid, useless hope he somehow had at being good vanished.

"There is Darkness in the boy." Headmistress Griffin had said.

Ah. He scoffed, his hands tightening into fists around the handle of the water bucket in front of him. Of course he had Darkness in him, it wasn't exactly news for him. But to be declared as a Witch or a Warlock ended the chances of being good, because Fairies were the heroes, the good ones, and them ? They were evil, bullies, there was a lot of discrimination against them. The very proof of that was everyone telling Bloom she was going to be a fairy.

And so what ? If she had been a witch, what does her friends would have done ? Reject her ?

He liked to think that Flora wouldn't do that, since he, himself, was a warlock. But...you never knew what masks people hid behind, and he wasn't so trusting. Couldn't be. Still, Flora was...kind of the closest thing to a friend he ever had in his life.

He was, once again, in the stables. Seriously, he felt like he found himself here way too-often. But...People usually didn't come here, so it was a good place. And well...he found that animals were less complicated than humans. Less demanding, never expecting you to make a mistake and mess things up, or to have to apologize to them.

Flora made it seem so simple. She did say some things that made him think that- maybe, just maybe- he wasn't destined to evil. If only it was so simple.
He had a habit of pushing people away, and he knew that.
Either by being rude, ignoring them, or, more recently, by being a Warlock. Or, Flora had...some weird, impossible, unconditional kindness.

And wasn't it weird ?
For him to be able to receive that kindness freely. He was not a good person, and was always surprised when she, again and again, gave him that kindness. It was strange, to receive it from someone he knew so little, to receive it from a Fairy.

Ah. Really, she had distracted him much. No wonder Vexius was uspet those days, with him straying from his "path". He fought hard to keep a sad smirk from slipping throught his face as he thought that. Damien didn't believe in any kind of Fate or destiny. Fate could always be changed, afterall.

He signed, patting the flanc of a horse absentmindly. The firm prescence of skin under his hand helped him to remind himself of where he was.

He frowned, glancing outside, a familiar feeling in his bones. He had failed to prove himself to Father and had been put in danger by the Trix, being ridiculised. He remembered everything of course. From when he had foolishly gone to do something, how he had found himself face to face with the Trix by happenstance.

"Actually, I think you could be part of our plan" Icy had said. And he...had a little hope. Not much, since he knew they were witches and that everybody and everything was and could be dangerous. And what did they dare to do ?
Keep him in that weird, disgusting metallic bubble on top of this machine, and he had almost fallen to his death.

They had dared put his life in danger, for Damian had no wings. And in that instant in the air, while he was falling so suddendly, he had wished for them. For his powers to work. For the first time in years, he had truly wished for his powers to manifest. He remembers the feeling even now, the tingling, warm sensation spreading from his fingertips. He had never felt more alive than this. He had been ready to use it.

Instead, he had been lowered in his fall by magic from a Fairy, saved by Bloom, the red haired girl of all people. He didn't like her very much. His first impression on her had been of taking off the collars of the Changelings.
Her hair uncomfortably reminded him of fire, not even talking about her powers.

What a joke. And how, later, Vexius had been angry. Worried because of how he couldn't defend himself, of how useless he was.
And really, Damian had hoped for his guardian to not comment of how the Trix had essentialy made him bait, but of course he had commented on it.
Really, he should know better than always hope.

Hope had never helped him. Not when he had been declared a Warlock, not when he had tried to make his powers work a little.

He wanted to make Father proud, but sometimes, he also really wanted to punch him in the face and burn him to ashes, something dark and vicious coiling inside his chest at the thought.

His powers...he didn't know how to control them, but not in the sense that they were too weak. Because while Father may not be aware of it and that Damian didn't care because it was his power, the reason why he had such a hard time even calling a flame was because he had too much power.

He knew, instinctually, that if he truly wished for it, it would be a bloodbath. His powers were strong, stronger than anyone would think they are. His flames couldn't be tamed, and neither could he. For all he listened and obeyed to Father, it was ridiculous how many times he had looked at him with that look in his eyes, the one full of hate that promised pain.

He tried not to think to hard about how unbothered Father was about that. At first, he thought it was because he liked it. And then...he realized it was more likely because Father didn't notice it. For Vexius, he wasn't a threath, or someone who could hurt people. For someone who raised him and knew him, that...surprised him. But...well, he knew that it was logical, since Father was far stronger than him and than most Magicals.

Vexius didn't know everything, but he knew a lot already. He was the one who raised Damien, who saved him. The one who always seemed dissapointed in him everytime he did something those days. He...didn't think that Father knew about what happenned exactly happenned thought, before the accident. Of how or why he had been on this planet.

But then again...neither did he, not really. Impressions and feelings and the Dark was all he could remember, when he was six and climbing a tower with his bare hands, wind trying its best to make him fall and end his life.

He was six when he was in the air for the first time, and didn't take any wounds from his fall, for he did not remember falling.

He was nine when he read the books on dark magic father had, eyes wide and exited. He remembers asking about it to father, once. Vexius had pretended not to hear him in order not to deal with the chaotic child he was back then. A wise decision.

He was thirteen when he realized the extent of what his father would do to achieve his goals or protect him, even if it meant to kill someone.
Sadly, he should have figured out that he had protected Damien's power, not only him. That he hadn't protected only him because he was his flesh and blood, but because of his power. And Damien had still clinged to the fact that Vexius cared for him.

He was five when Vexius became Father and took care of him. When Vexius saved him and raised him, taking him away from the place of his birth, the planet Earth. Vexius had taken care of him back then.
It didn't seem to be the case anymore.

Nowdays, it felt more like he was a dissapointement to Father. Their relationship was more...strained. By his attitude and fails, and by Vexius being more interested in the Fairies and getting power than actually spending time with him other than to order him around.

But then again, Damien had stopped caring about that for a long time now. He didn't need that care. He didn't. He wasn't a child anymore. ...he didn't care about it.

Instead, he had the dark, ever-present feeling of warmth in his chest and the animals he took care of. Wonderful beings that gave love and didn't demand anything in return.

And still, he loved his Father, because that was what Vexius was. And as much as he, too, used him for his plans- or in fact forbid him from interfering- he knew Father better than anyone else, and so he knew that Vexius didn't hate him, at least. Irritated at times and dissapointed but never angry.

Damien began to tidy the place up a bit. When he finally finished putting his tools away and the broom in the corner, he grabbed his black schoolbag and threw it over his shoulder. He decided to pet a Changeling one last time, and he gathered his courage.

He had to take lessons- which he hadn't had a lot. To be honest, he's seen way more in the stables than anywhere else. Nobody questionned it of course, which worked in his favor but it was weird that nobody noticed that he actually almost never came to class if it wasn't for tests or events.

Damien found class a little boring. It was just...so simple. Why did they need classes like that, where he learned nothing and was more bothered than anything with the Trix bullying him, when they had books ?!

For him, learning from books was way more conveniant than listening to a teacher saying some words. He used to do that, wander around the library and trying to learn what caught his eye.
He had stopped doing that since...almost three years now...?
Maybe he should have checked again and explore the library again but...he grimaced.
It would probably be boring anyway. The only book he had read recently was one on illusions, one which he didn't even finish. And his attention wasn't too great if it wasn't put for something useful or for taking care of the animals, which was about the only thing he really liked.

Today was one of the rare days he was going to class since they were going to do a...simulation, yeah, he was pretty sure that was what the professors and students had talked about.

Damien grip on his bag tightened. He pushed the door of the stable, light falling on his face. He took a single step forward, then looked back. The shadows seemed more alive, and he knew it wasn't just a trick of his imagination. His gaze lingered longer than it should have, and then he finally walked away, closing the doors behind him.

He had a feeling today was going to be a long day.

Finding the classroom hadn't been that hard. Damien would say he knew his way around Alfea pretty well afterall, and the walk wasn't that long either.

The most annoying thing was more of the thing they had to do. "Facing their fears" ? And what if some had a reasonably good fear of death, what happenned, uh ?

He didn't understand the point of this. Of course, fighting and succeding against his own fears was absolutely something that seemed wonderful, exept for the fact they were forced to face them. And even then, it put to disadvantage the students who had a bad life. Some fears were rational and normal, like the fear of death.
It...didn't really seem fair, but Damien was not gonna speak up about that.

And so, when the teacher began to put them in seperate simulation chambers, Damien took a deep breath. Let's see what his worst fear was. He walked inside, taking care to seal the door behind him. He did not want to deal with somebody knowing his worst fear.

That was way too much that anyone would know about him, way too private. His worst fear was really something he wouldn't want to share to other people. On the contrary, it would be a good thing to know the worst fears of people...annnd that's how he knew he was thinking of useful, but ultimately, bad things. He snorted. Gods, he sounded like Father.

Something took shape around him, buidlings appearing, a sky that wasn't there beginning to build itself. The instant everything felt way too alive and real, he knew where exactly he was. It surprised him, to recognize the place so well.

Damien hadn't expected to have that fear. But it was...logical, he supposed, in its own, cruel joke that the universe had apparently made to him. He almost laughted right here, as cold curled around him.

Everytime he took a breath, little puffs of cold air took form. He shifted slighty, feeling snow under his boots. Something wet and cold touched his cheek. The town was covered in a thick white cloak already, but he knew it would have become even worse with the snow quickly falling and the wind blowing. It was almost weird for him to be cold, since he never really felt cold anymore.

The Magical Dimension didn't have a lot of cold areas, if he remembered correctly.

He knew where the simulation was going. He walked, without ever daring to take a good look at the people walking around in the streets, never looking beyond their clothes. He didn't want to remember those faces.
He saw a old woman struggle to pick up her bag.
His first instinct was not to came to help her, but his body did anyway. He walked closer, his gaze still looking down at the ground. He bent, picking up the pale pink bag of the old woman. His hands felt bigger than normal when he took the handle, and he did not exept to accidentally look up as he gave the bag to its rightful owner.

He saw an old woman's face, black skin and brown, beautiful hair. The lines on her face showed a gentle, kind and grateful smile, and Damien's heart broke.

He was hit with a wave of sadness. He hadn't meant to look at those people faces, because he knew what they meant. What every single one of them meant. Child. Men. Women. Girls and boys, young and old, kind and mean. Good and bad. Ahahaha...ha...It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

He knew every single one of them would be dead by the next hour.

The kind elderly woman face superposed with one with empty eyes and smile stolen. All because of him.

He didn't linger. He looked, nodded, and continued his way.
...he recognized this buidling. He was pretty sure he had lived here, in this grey, monotone buidling. Several windows, two doors and the dead grass in the front. Everything was the same.

Then, everything became red and orange hues, the buidling shaking and parts of it crumbling as fire exploded from inside. Or, the fire didn't stop here. It spread, quicker than he could track, to the other houses, to the dead vegetarion, to anything around it. It ignored the snow. It melted it, burning and roaring as cries and shouts began to echo throught the the town.

Damien felt the fire reaching him, englufing him in its deadly embrace, smoke rising above in the sky, and he let it.

At the edge of his awareness, he became aware of a door being forced open.
He didn't think, because, somehow, the first action that came to his panicked mind when he heard that, was to say the spell of the illusion charm he had read in that book he had read months ago.

Him, doing magic and expecting it to work, when he was so bad at magic, his worst fear litteraly showed how useless and out of control he was ! He was useless and couldn't even control his magic- he-
He feared being the cause of such an accident again. Of...of killing people.

The screams came back again, cries for help as fire wrapped around everything, and Damien couldn't bear it. He fell to his knees, his eyes uncapable of straying from the red crimson, the orange hues, the smoke.

He felt cold, pure terror, and couldn't bring himself to look away. He was vaguely aware of how the group of fairy girls barged in and began to cast spells at the fire.

They were seeing all of that. They were- how dare they-
And suddendly he was back in a white room. No town, no fire, no people dying.

He couldn't quite focus after that. He was dragged with the others to Headmistresses Faragonda and Griffin. Another blood-haired professor was here, one which he absentmindly remembered being Professor Palladium.

The whole area was scorched and damaged. At least it didn't smell like smoke, or Damien thought he might actually puke.

And then the girls explained themselves, telling about how they saved him from his father- hm ?

Saved him from Father ?
That wasn't what happenned. And- did they seriously just say what they believed to be his worst fear in front of others ?

More importantly...that...meant they hadn't saw that. They hadn't- thank the gods. They didn't know.
And...that meant the spell he tried to do in panic had worked. thought, why his father...? He supposed it was true he feared him a little, for he knew Father better than most, he knew what Father could do. But....his Father certainely wasn't his biggest fear. Maybe it was because- after the fire-

M-maybe.

He didn't think te girls didn't got any punishment for going and..."saving" him. He didn't...need saving.

And instead they got praised for surmonting their fears. Which was great but then...what about the people that didn't ?

What about him, whose fear was so destructive that it damaged the equipment, left scorched marks, and that he hadn't been able to face ? Him, who his magic was so strong that it left damage in its wake when it was only a simulation ?

When they got out of the school buidling, despite the sky setting on a darker color as time slipped throught his fingers, all he could see was the fire burned in his pale sky blue eyes.

He needed time to get himself together. He couldn't- he- refused for anyone to see him in this state right now, especially when he could feel his mask slipping as the presence of his own flames dancing behind his vision did not fade.

He had ended up at the stables, once again. Sometimes, Damien thought that maybe he had become predictable, for people to always find him whenever he went. He supposed that with all the time he passed with the animals whenever he wanted to get his mind on other things, it had become and expetation to just...find him in the stables and hills that surronded the school. Honestly, he spent a ridiculous amount of time at the stables and out in the fields.

Flora had approached him with a complicated expression, her lips thin and a worried tilt to the way she was holding herself. It was obvious she had been worrying about him before that, the corner of the cuffs of her sleeves just slighty out of place.
Damien realized he had oddly noticed a lot of things. Things he wouldn't notice normally, because his attention wasn't great, and neither was any of his decisions. All he could do was fail, and that ?
That made him more mad than anything else, a vicious and vindicative feeling spreading in his chest just at the thought of never winnning.

Damien was always motivated by a desire to prove himself. Prove himself to the World, to his Father, and...
And to Flora. Because, weirdly, it hurt when Flora looked at him with such kind eyes. He didn't know why, couldn't even begin to figure it out.

Someone aside from Father worrying, genuilely worrying, about him. It was...kind. To do that.

-"Are you okay ? We saw you with that man, the other day. I wanted to make sure you were okay, especially with what the Trix had done to you earlier that day and...well, i- i wanted to apologize. For not catching you."

The comment should have made him furious, because he wasn't weak. It should have made him angry and annoyed because they had seen him with Father.
Instead, he couldn't help but stare, his eyes widening a little, because she was apologizing. He just...couldn't understand it.

She was sorry for not catching him. Not blaming him for the power he lacked, for risking his life without fighting first, without even having a chance to fight. Of how a ridiculous death it would have been if he had fallen and died because the Trix of all people, had put him in place of a cup.

-"...Thanks." He wishpered, quietly, barely being able to look at her in the eyes, but still looking at her. He gave back the same force that she had given him while taking his hands.

"Don't worry about it." He said in a calmer voice than what he thought he could manage.

Somehow, he knew he wouldn't have died had he indeed met the ground beneath him that day. He knew he would have survived, like he always did.

-"You know, I think they're wrong. You're stronger than you realize, Damien. I'm sure of it. You are strong, Damien. Try it."
She raised her hands with his, and she helped him. And for some stupid reason, he just thought why not ? because she was kind and patient, and they just would try.
He could try to let out a bit of his power. Just...trying.

A crimson flame flickered in his hand. Flora smiled with quiet encouragement at him, and his flame flickered once again, before going out as he willed it. He still had the image of his own flames destroying everything in his mind.

Somehow, something just...clicked.

He looked at her, his hands tightening into fists as he looked down at them, before relaxing his palms, and then, after a few more quiet words exchanged, she was gone, flying away.

She was right. He was strong. Only that nobody aside from her seemed to notice that. For everyone else, he just couldn't control his powers. And yes, maybe he couldn't control them but...the thruth was, he didn't like being weak.

He looked up. He...he wanted to change that. No. He was going to change that.

Chapter Text

Since his most recent -and only- success at doing magic, Damien had decided to go back to the library again. He had been hesitant at first- but with the illusion spell he had done, it convainced him that he should go to the library.

The spell hadn't been perfect, but that wasn't exactly a surprise- Damien was bad at magic. What kind of Magical being couldn't control his powers ?

He often thought that fairies were lucky, because everything they did seemed so easy. Like casting a spell wasn't that hard. The thing was, it worked. He had done magic, and no one had seen his true, deepest fear.

He remembered complaining to Father, when he was younger, about how he wanted to do that "cool, shadow travelling magic".
Vexius had answered his magic would come in time. Or, Damien hadn't wanted to do his own magic, he had wanted the one Father did. Because, maybe if he had the magic of his Father, he wouldn't have the danger of slipping up and making everything worse-

He remembered flames, hungry and roaring, spreading faster and faster, getting out of control-
-and smooth hands in his.

He let out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. Maybe he had been more shaken up than he thought after that stupid simulation. He couldn't banish the memory of fire melting ice and snow so easily, destroying everything. Nothing like the warmth and gentle fire from a campfire or from the hearth of a home. No, his fire was hungry and restless, a flame that wanted to devour everything around it.

The point was, Damien had succeded at doing magic, something Father had asked of him many times, and many times had Damien failed, never summonning more than a single crimson flame in his hands.

But maybe other magics...? He knew that it was stupid to have hope, but it was the only thing he had. That maybe, he could actually succeed at something for once.

He walked along the corridor. Weapons and metal armor of knights shining in the well-lit hallway. Hight up on the walls, weapons were put in a line. Blades, daggers, staffs, arrows and bows, shields...all of them were of course protected by a spell that didn't allow students to pick them up, but they were there nonetheless.

Damien hated being weak. He didn't like being useless, that he could not fight because he did not have magic or those trinkets the Specialists used. Those shiny, colorful weapons that were so bright it hurt his eyes.
Damien barely knew how to wield a weapon, and he had never used a sword in his entire life.

Damien was a Warlock, and he should also be able to use magic and spells like the others, he didn't want to stay in that state where he only had a flicker of power, where he was defenseless. Damien wanted to be able to fight back. He didn't want to stay in that state where he was almost like mere humans. He was a magical being, and now he was a Warlock.

He took a deep breath again, pushing the doors of the library open, slipping inside as quietly as he could.

The library was as dark as he remembered, the dim lights helping. With all the time he passed outside, Damien wasn't in those kind of spaces very often. And even with all the time he spend outside, his skin stayed the same pale color, like it always had been.

Shelves upon shelves were here, and the library somehow seemed so spacious he could get lost in it. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen.
Damien liked to think he would have a good sense of orientation given he thinks he knows Alfea pretty well.
He had been here since he was fourteen, but would only begun all of his magic and other studies this year. Only that was if you assumed he actually was going to said lessons.

Damien walked, looking at the books names from time to time. Some were more far more interesting than others, "Magiks for the Wicked" and "Curses, Jinxes and Dead Bodies" were more funny than...what did they even aim for with those tiltles ? For it to be scary ?

The red-headed teenager walked a bit more, his fingers brushing the covers of the ancient books, stopping only when he finally found something interesting.

The cover was a dark, rich black with patches of purple and red around the first page. The name, Clavicula Salomonis, was neatly written on the front page, in gold letters that caught the candles light. It kinda looked like a thing Father would have, just less creepy. And also less likely to be cursed.
He couldn't understand the tiltle of the book, but from its looks alone, he could give it a try.

He grabbed the book from the shelf and then felt it ; he quickly turned, accidentally knocking into the shelves. The shadows were here already, allowing Father to take form thanks to them.
Once again, he glared at Vexius. Sometimes, he would like a bit more of a warning of Father showing up, instead of relying on how he was used to it.

And then he remembered, as if lightning had struck him ; hadn't the group of fairies seen him with Vexius ? Flora had said that, hadn't she-? The Fairies had been flying, the shadows couldn't exactly reach in the sky. Vexius usually checked from the shadows on the ground if there was anyone, and he hardly could check beyond that. Would it be a problem ?

But then again, Father would probably be fighting, and he would inevitably end up at his side, like always. And well- Damien didn't even know if he should mention it to Father, it wasn't like it mattered. He didn't understand why it bothered him so much. It had been nothing, and he should be fine.

Damien took a deep breath as Father finally appeared, returning to a normal face, as calm as he could manage.
The shadows fadded away as Father's body became more solid. Vexius had a sharp jaw, high cheekbones and overall, a face casted in shadows. Father had dark, steel grey eyes along with the stern expression he always wore. Damien didn't look much like him, with his red, messy hair and his sky blue eyes. There outfits looked alike however, with Father and him having a similar taste in clothes, he guessed.

-"I have discovered an interesting fact about the Dragon's Flame." Was how Father began. Damien glared, and raised an eyebrow. What had Father planned this time ?

-"Annd what does that have anything to do with me, Father ? No- actually, better yet, what do you need my help with exactly ?"

Because Father surely wanted something, and so Damien had to help him, like always. It was annoying- and fairly stressful, and also a weight upon his shoulders since he did not want to fail and appear foolish again.
It was a lot for him but...Damien didn't see Vexius or his goals as particulary evil. More like that it was...necessary.

Vexius approached, wishpering something to Damien's hear. Damien blinked, surprised.
-"Are you sure about this...? Father ?"

-"Do not question me Damien." And then Vexius was gone once again.

Damien could breath once again, but his brain was still very much working. It wasn't that he didn't trust Vexius- even if some of his plans could be doubtful- but more than that it was how that particular plan involved him.

Damien scowled, grabbing his book again, and decided to read to take his mind off of how useless he was that Vexius had dared propose that he'd give him part of his Flame. For one, Damien was not going to just give the little of power he had, even for Father. And while Father would undoubtly use it better than he could- especially with such a small amount given to him-

But it would just mean that Vexius would only need him for his power, and that was not a thing he liked to think about. He was more than that, he had to be.

...he wanted to be more than that. He looked down, his blue eyes lingering on the shadows on the floor. His fists tightened painfully, and he turned sharply, opening the book loudly on his table.

"the art of doing spells is old. The basics of praticing spells is having a strong idea of what you want the spell to form into. The only limit would be your imagination, powers limits and other factors that would affect how the spell would form. As someone progress in spells would increase, the individual should have a more clear grasp of how to manipulate their magical power.

Magical powers often differ from one person to another, even among family members. In fact, even if they would share the same power, their experiences would shape it differently.
For exemple, if a mother and daughter were to have the same magic power of controlling steel, the manner of how those two would control it would differ. The mother could manipulate solid pieces of steel while the daughter, while manipulating the same element, could be using its liquid form."

Father wanted for him to give up his power willingly, without any doubt in his mind. Well, part of his power. Damien wasn't good at controlling his magic, but he wanted to, in order to make Father proud. But at the same time, with the image of snow and screams and ever-consuming fire, he did not want to just let go of his hold on his fire, because he did not want to hurt anyone.
He didn't want to kill anyone ever again.

But at the same time, it was too difficult. Because he never could release more of his flame, he never could taste the magic.
He thought of all the times the Trix and the Fairies had had used magic so easily.

It was a fact that Damien wasn't good at magic. He couldn't rely on it. But he had to figure out something to help Father, since he wasn't keen on the idea of giving up part of the power he possessed, and that the spell had specified he had to give his power willingly, without a doubt in his mind. Ah...what a joke.

Yes, he found it quite funny. Because, for some time, when he was younger, he hadn't wanted his magic. In fact, he had believed than not having it would have been easier, that he could have lived among humans if he hadn't had that cursed power.

That being normal was better than having magic. But magic, as much as he might hate it, was something that was part of him, and something that he needed to be good at, wanted to be good at. He wasn't skilled at the sword or other weapons, and Father needed him to be useful.
And Damien ?
Damien wanted to be powerful. To be able to stand his ground and battle on his own. To never be as helpless as he was when fire consumed everything, or when he could not do anything more than produce a flickering flame.

Damien got back to reading the book, uneven shadows and light scretching across the old yellow pages by the faint light of the candles.

"In order for the magic to work in the most efficient way possible, there is one core foundation needed to be understood : from where the magic we use originates from.

If Magic comes mainly from within oneself, it also comes from and reacts to our environment, or in other words, to the elements. Each and every Witch, Fairy, Pixie or Wizard, Warlock and Mage, have an affinity to an element. If we take our exemple of Fairy manipulating steel, that Fairy would be called something along the lines of "Fairy of Metals" or simply "Fairy of Steel", depending on exactly what element the Fairy is using with her magic.

With that, if a Witch that had an affinity for the element of water, she wouldn't be able to use the opposite element, fire, at all. And neither would she be able to use other spells based on different elements if they stray too far away from the element her core magic is based on, water.

Those limitations however can be broken, but for one exception only ; Dark and Light Magic. Those spells would work for everyone, as long as they put the work and magic and will in order to accomplish the spell.

A particular skilled Magical being would also be able to use magic near their original element alongside it. A low-magic potential being would have a easier time doing that, because their core magic wouldn't be so present in their magic. Which is why some Magical beings would have a easier time at performing spells while others would struggle because of their stronger connection to the element in their core magic.
However, that would only work if they had enought balance. Balance is the term for how a Magical Being would regulate their connection- consiously or uncousiously- to the element their magic is tied to.

Here is an exemple : if a skilled witch with a strong connection to their core magic managed to use other magics as strongly as their own, it would be because they would regulate their own connection to the elements. It still would be pratically impossible to control opposite magic from their own.

Light and Dark Magic would act similar to that, opposites in every aspect but completing themselves. No one, not even a Dark Witch or a Light Mage would have a core completely pure or dark, for every being needs a piece of dark or light in their souls. If it wasn't the case, they simply wouldn't just be a Dark one or a Light one."

Damien turned the page, before stopping.
What he wanted..oh ! But of course ! Damien turned the page back, his eyes quickly going across the page to find this word again. Balance. What he needed was balance, and so, to have control of his own flame-
Which he actually might gain if he had less power in his body, in order to control the rest better without burning everything in his path since having less power apparently made it easier to control Magical power-

That meant he could agree to Father's plan for a while, the time for Father to do his plan, and the time for him to execute his own. But...did he really want to agree to Father's plan ?

He didn't like that idea. While, yes, maybe it would ultimately help, he still did not like the idea of giving up even part of his magic to Father, not when it was his. He prefered to help Father gain power or do whatever he had planned, but not...giving up his power.

Still, he now had something. If he got his magic low and weak enought that he could freely try it without struggling so much, he could maybe control his powers better. Learn a spell or two and try. First, he'd have to figure out a way to either store his magic or somehow make the magic in him less intense ? He didn't really like the first option of storing it into an object that could be stolen or lost. As for the other one, he had no idea of how to make that happen.

Maybe he could ask someone. But who ? Certainely not Father, he knew that Vexius would likely take part of his power if he did that. And while, yes, maybe he would have a solution, Damien wasn't sure if he could trust him on that front. Besides, it was something he wanted to do on his own.

He knew it was unlikely he'd get the hang of it in such a short time but- he was ready to do anything it takes in order to move forward, to finally being able to do magic freely.

Suddendly, he heard the bell ring, and he jumped. He really hadn't been tracking the time, and so it surprised him that an hour had already went by. He scolded himself for this, since he knew people would soon enter the library. He tucked the precious book away inside his black jacket, putting it in one of his inside pockets.

As he got up to leave, he realized that what he was doing was probably stealing but...well, firstly he didn't think he should care about that- it wasn't like anyone would be needing this book as much as he does- and secondly because...he'll return it...eventually.
Why he was bothering to care was beyond his understanding. Maybe he spend too much time with Flora- not that they spend that much time together in the first place- ah, no matter.

The important thing was that he needed this book, which had already helped him, and so he was going to keep it. He put his hands in his pockets, walking out. However, before he could open the door to the library, it opened. Someone with red long hair and blue eyes had opened it. Bloom, Flora's friend, the one who Father had made him lure into a trap, and the Fairy the Trix hated.

He remembered how worried she had been about potentially being a witch all the while he had hoped to be a Fairy, because he wanted to have a comfirmation that his magic wasn't meant to be so destructive and violent. That he wasn't violent, or destructive or evil. That he was good.

It left a sour taste in his mouth. Of course it wasn't like he hated warlocks or witches, it was just that he hadn't been actively worrying about being one. He knew that it would be the likely result anyways. And he had still been dissapointed, because they said that he couldn't be good. Why ?

She had...she had worried about being a witch because she considered witches evil. And while Damien would give it to her that the Trix weren't quite the best first impression- it still annoyed him, and he couldn't even quite clearly tell why.

He didn't want to talk to her.

-"Damien ? What are you doing in the library ?"
The fire-fairy girl asked, her eyes suspicious. Of course it would be weird, to see him in a library of all places. He wanted to tell her "Reading", but restrained himself.

He didn't respond. He walked forward without looking at her, because he wasn't going to answer. Really, it annoyed him even more because he didn't understand why he was so angry at that red-haired girl.
He just knew that she was a fire fairy, and that the Trix hated her for no apparent reason, and she was new here. He knew that her name was Bloom, and that she was part of the group of fairies that had a rivalry against the Trix.

And none of that information helped him figure out why he was feeling that way.
Bloom probably was just another Fairy, as he was just another Warlock.
He continued to walk quickly, never answering her question, the air buzzing with the hight-pitched words hanging in the air.
Damien did not look back.