Before Dominion

Morning had not yet arrived.

The tavern remained buried in silence, the world outside still suspended between darkness and dawn. Most people slept deepest during these hours. Their minds softened by exhaustion, unaware of how fragile existence truly was when stripped of sunlight and noise.

Tracan sat alone at the edge of the bed.

Awake.

Still.

The lingering effects of Void had mostly faded, though a faint pressure still lingered behind his eyes like unpaid debt waiting patiently to be collected.

A candle burned quietly beside him.

Its flame remained perfectly stable.

No movement.

No trembling.

Tracan watched it without expression.

Then slowly extended his hand toward it.

The fire bent instantly.

Not summoned.

Obedient.

It curled around his fingers like something alive seeking acknowledgment from its origin.

Flame was easy.

Too easy.

That was the problem.

He already understood the next step.

Fourth Circle.

Dominion.

The realm where the environment itself submitted to the magician’s Aspect.

For ordinary magicians, ascension was difficult.

For him—it was catastrophic if attempted incorrectly.

Because Tracan was not bound to one Aspect. And reality had begun noticing that contradiction.

His fingers closed slowly.

The flame extinguished instantly.

Darkness reclaimed the room.

He leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded in thought.

To ascend, he first needed stability.

Not power.

Power was meaningless without structure capable of containing it.

Most Third Circle magicians struggled to synchronize fully with a single Aspect. Their entire lives became dedicated to preventing internal contradiction.

Tracan had no such luxury.

Inside him existed multiple forces that should not coexist peacefully.

Flame desired domination.

Void desired absence.

Storm resisted stillness.

Earth resisted change.

Mind demanded precision.

Shadow fed on concealment.

Light sought revelation.

Each Aspect carried instinct.

Will.

Nature.

And every time he used one too deeply, the others reacted.

Not violently.

Yet.

But he could feel it growing.

Like pressure building beneath the foundation of something not designed to carry such weight.

He was deprived of choice. To him, seeking power now was a matter of survival.

To challenge Dominion and possibly perish, or do nothing and die beyond a shadow of doubt.

His Fourth Circle ascension could not resemble ordinary Dominion.

He would need preparation beforehand.

Extensive preparation.

Calculated preparation.

Tracan’s gaze shifted toward the window.

Darkness reflected faintly across the glass.

He already knew the first requirement.

Aspect segmentation.

He would need to isolate each Aspect mentally before attempting synchronization.

Separate them.

Categorize them.

Prevent overlap during ascension.

Otherwise, multiple Aspects might attempt Dominion simultaneously.

If that happened—the surrounding region itself could collapse into instability.

Even he did not fully understand what simultaneous Dominion would create.

And ignorance during ascension was death.

The second requirement was harder.

Emotional neutrality.

Aspects fed on psychological weakness.

A Flame magician consumed by rage often lost themselves to destruction during ascension.

A Void magician overwhelmed by despair simply disappeared.

The Fourth Circle punished imbalance mercilessly.

Tracan understood something most magicians did not:

Emotion was not weakness. Uncontrolled emotion was.

And he carried one instability he had never fully resolved.

Memory.

His mother.

His father.

That night.

The necklace resting beneath his collar.

Fragments of humanity he never removed because some part of him still refused to let them disappear completely.

That attachment was dangerous.

Because Dominion amplified truth.

And buried truth surfaced violently during ascension.

If hesitation emerged at the wrong moment—the Aspects would tear him apart from within.

Tracan closed his eyes briefly.

Then came the final problem.

The one he acknowledged least often.

Fear.

Not fear of death.

Death was simple.

Predictable.

What unsettled him was the possibility of success.

Because he had studied the fragmented records surrounding Fifth Circle transcendents.

Enough to understand one terrifying pattern:

The stronger the magician became, the less human they remained.

Fourth Circle altered presence.

Fifth Circle altered existence itself.

And Tracan…

Tracan was not ascending with one Aspect.

If he ever transcended completely—what exactly would remain afterward?

Would Flame and Void coexist?

Would all Aspects merge?

Would his personality survive at all?

Or would something entirely new emerge wearing the remains of his identity?

That uncertainty was the only thing capable of disturbing the stillness of his thoughts.

The only thing he never calculated to completion.

For the first time that night, Tracan’s expression shifted slightly.

Not fear.

Not doubt.

Something colder.

Recognition.

He understood now why the Conclave feared higher ascensions so deeply.

Not because powerful magicians destroyed kingdoms.

Kingdoms were insignificant.

No—they feared what happened when a being stopped fitting inside the structure reality had prepared for humanity.

And Tracan already stood dangerously close to that threshold.

He opened his eyes again.

The candle beside him reignited instantly without command.

Flame danced silently in the darkness.

Waiting.

Patient.

Obedient.

For now.

Tracan stared at it for several seconds before speaking quietly into the empty room.

“Not yet.”

The flame lowered slightly.

As if listening.

Outside, dawn slowly approached Arcaia.

And somewhere far beyond the tavern walls—forces far older than kingdoms had already begun shifting in response to something they did not yet fully understand.

Something preparing for Dominion.