Lucien pressed two fingers against the baby's tiny wrist, his face darkening as he felt the erratic, violent pulse of mana beneath the skin. "The core is overloading. His physical vessel is only seven days old. His bones, his muscles, his nervous system—they are human, they are mortal. But the magic he is drawing upon is primordial."
"The Black Sun and the Prince's Lightning," Gwen whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs as she felt the heat radiating through the swaddle. "They are fighting inside him."
"Not fighting," Lucien corrected, his voice tight as he began to strip away the wool blankets to let the cool air reach the child's skin. "Fusing. Every time he teleports, he isn't just moving his body; he is forcibly dragging a massive amount of environmental mana through his tiny spiritual pathways. It's like pouring an entire river through a single straw. The friction is creating a fever."
