[They are frozen in time, suspended in the age they were when their connection to the Singularity crystalized into something more, but time keeps flowing around them. They don't grow old; they evolve. Their power does — and Wilhelm has long since thought of it as a part of him, little different from his blood or bones.
In the snow, he holds his fire close. That old trick of floating the flame around himself takes no concentration anymore. As naturally as breathing, he circulates it to keep them both warm as they follow the footpath through naked trees. He even knows how to make it emit heat without burning skin or singing hair.]
Well... [Pulling off a glove, he flexes his hand for her. Slowly, the skin becomes encased in jagged crystals, blues and greens glowing through black on each sharp facet.] I've been playing around with this.
[Like any of the abilities he's accumulated over the years, this one sprang from him suddenly. But seizing it came more intuitively, as if the way to wield it was already written on his ribs. When things shifted, he doesn't know precisely. It's like the tide creeping in — you don't notice until it's gathering around your knees and the shoreline is utterly changed. Now, he's hearing the wants and hopes of people he has never met. He's feeling the weight of something converging on his shoulders, his chest.]
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In the snow, he holds his fire close. That old trick of floating the flame around himself takes no concentration anymore. As naturally as breathing, he circulates it to keep them both warm as they follow the footpath through naked trees. He even knows how to make it emit heat without burning skin or singing hair.]
Well... [Pulling off a glove, he flexes his hand for her. Slowly, the skin becomes encased in jagged crystals, blues and greens glowing through black on each sharp facet.] I've been playing around with this.
[Like any of the abilities he's accumulated over the years, this one sprang from him suddenly. But seizing it came more intuitively, as if the way to wield it was already written on his ribs. When things shifted, he doesn't know precisely. It's like the tide creeping in — you don't notice until it's gathering around your knees and the shoreline is utterly changed. Now, he's hearing the wants and hopes of people he has never met. He's feeling the weight of something converging on his shoulders, his chest.]