Aveline blinked at the glowing sphere in her hand, then looked back at Aelion with open bewilderment.
"What?" she asked, still staring at the light as though it might explain itself. "Is this fire? Why is it white? And why does it look like this?"
The strange power crackled softly against her palm, bright as molten moonlight and restless as a storm, its edges flickering with something that resembled lightning threaded through flame. It was so bright, so fierce, that she could not even decide what she was looking at, much less how she had made it.
"How do I stop it?" she asked.
Surely it should stop on its own. Surely it was not meant to linger there like a living thing.
Aelion, who had backed away with admirable caution, stared at her hand as though he were afraid it might strike him if he looked at it too directly.
"That is…" He swallowed. "It cannot be."
Aveline frowned. "What do you mean it cannot be?"
