Casey walked along the pool's stone edge, the cool surface pressing into his bare feet.
He planted himself, set his stance, and drew in a deep breath of the drafty air.
Then he exhaled, releasing a frozen storm.
It shrieked through the fence's pikes and tore into the tall grass beyond the yard.
Gradually, the air stilled.
Cold vapor puffed from his mouth as coughing took over. His teeth chattered. Sweat from his earlier workout had frozen into a stiff, brittle sheet against his skin.
The lawn, hedges, and fence were coated in icicles.
His eyes lit up. The power rushing through him felt unreal. He had done this. Him.
After settling his emotions, smiling Casey headed back towards the door. The faint crackling of frozen fabric didn't bother him at all.
Sword in hand, he turned to close the door and froze.
A blurry figure stood in the frosty wind.
Casey stared for several seconds before it slowly faded from sight.
Probably just some irregularity from casting a new spell. He'd ask his father later.
The kitchen opened into the backyard. His dad stood at the stove; cooking and singing a church song. Casey didn't recognize it. It had a upbeat, lively, full of energy vibe. Like pop. Most people would never believe he could act like this.
Casey shook his head, smiled. His dad was a corn ball.
The scent of sausages and eggs filled the room. They rested on a white ceramic plate, and glistened boldly.
"Dad, come look at the fence. I made it freeze over, then I saw—"
"Case, go take a bath first. Breakfast will be here."
"Alright, dad."
He went to his room, handled the routine quickly, and returned wearing a red denim shirt, yellow pants, and light brown boots.
"Case, first thing's first — you didn't do bad, kid." His dad sat at the table, a full plate in front of him. "Light blue at eighteen? That's amazing."
He looked much like yesterday — light pink dress shirt, black pants, polished leather shoes. Still handsome for his age. The only real differences between their faces were a few wrinkles and a salt-and-pepper beard.
"I feel like I could try more spells," Casey said, holding up his hands. "Like controlling heat and stuff… but honestly? I'm kind of scared to try."
"If you tried fire right now, you'd probably burn yourself. After a breakthrough, you shouldn't cast again too soon. Composite mana needs time to refill. The nodes progress faster, but the body has to catch up."
"I see… makes sense." He paused. "You probably should've told me that earlier."
"You're not stupid enough to use fire."
"Yeah, but I like surprising people."
His dad snorted. "Anyway, come to church with me tomorrow? Over the next few weeks we're covering the basics. And you need to get back in there. You don't end up like some of these idiots wandering around lost."
"Tomorrow? You already took my whole day with the service thing."
"If you come, I might give you a car."
"A car for church? Yeah… you're definitely hiding something. I'll come next week?"
Casey slowed his eating. The earlier incident scratched at the back of his mind.
"Dad… have you ever seen a figure after a breakthrough?"
"Yes. When I reached dark purple at twenty-four. Usually spirits watching someone they think might be dangerous. But you shouldn't see one at blue. Did you, Case?"
"Yeah. It stood at the fence. Just watching me."
His father frowned. "That's not good. I might need to make some calls. If it was blurry, it's probably weak."
He pulled out his phone immediately.
"Hey, Darold. I'm coming over. We may have a problem. "He paced outside while talking.
When he returned, he handed Casey a silver pendant etched with words Casey couldn't read.
"That'll cover you. The watch should've been enough, but this will help until light purple."
"Light purple? I wish."
They finished eating, and Casey left home. His dad didn't seem overly worried, so Casey decided to trust him.
By the time the mechanic finished, evening had already settled in. Casey drove toward the eastern end of Old Providence.
His thoughts lingered on the morning — especially the weight of the pendant pressing against his chest.
With a sigh, he turned on the truck's radio.
Lawns, quarry patches, bushes — sometimes all three at once — slid past the windows. It was a long drive to his favorite restaurant.
Houses varied along the road. Some old. Some patched together. Some new but cheaply built.
The sun was setting. No kids outside. The air felt moist, cool — faintly fishy.
People in the west liked being outdoors. Groups gathered near bars, under trees, beneath streetlights. Loud domino games, arguments, laughter, drinking, smoking — all blending into one restless noise.
Casey parked across from the purple-and-white restaurant High Tide. A small dark overhang sheltered the outdoor section.
Behind the quarry lot sat a large pond. A nearby ramp let boaters launch into it — the water eventually connected to the ocean somewhere in the distance.
Rico had texted earlier. Said he needed to talk. Wouldn't explain why. That meant it was important.
Apartments surrounded the restaurant. Bimini's strict building codes required concrete and block. Three-story buildings lined the coast, railings rusted from the salty air. Mostly brown or white — colors easy to cover with primer.
Pole lights illuminated a nearby basketball court. Music blasted. A huge crowd cheered.
Casey focused on the restaurant.
After checking both directions, he crossed the street and climbed the stairs.
Inside, the space was wide open with tough outdoor white tile. Wall-mounted fans spun uselessly against the noise. Windows were open, but the crowd drowned everything out. Few tables meant most people stood around or gathered at the bar after ordering.
Casey did the same, messaging Rico to ask where he was.
Not long after, a lazy-looking guy walked in. White T-shirt, fitted ripped jeans, red sneakers.
Same age as Casey, but didn't look it. Dark-skinned. Thick beard. Surprisingly stout. A cautious air hung around him.
Rico walked straight over and pulled Casey into a hug.