[oh, an audience... he ducks into his own shoulders a little, just now realizing that he's going to be the center of attention, but his sudden shyness doesn't last long. it's just Tek, after all, and normally he'd love a chance to show off in front of another magical creature.
he gets close to the stone, puts his hand down on top of it, and says nothing.
this is only notable because he usually says something when he does magic. from what Tek has seen, Robin's magic needs written words and chalk circles, or some muttered prayer in that old language of his. his blood magic works without any of that, but that has been the only exception.
except for now, where the stone immediately seems to respond. the barest traces of magical aura inside of it begin to answer some unspoken call, slowly shifting and changing to fill the tiny, nearly indiscernible cracks in the glass that were left there by the impact of the lightning strike.
before the feeling of lightning can really get much purchase on the air around them, Robin gently closes his fist over the glass and the feeling of whatever is inside of it seems to die down. whatever lives in there isn't going to get out. instead, it keeps filling the material with slivers of glowing yellow that turn to veins of white, and grow and push until a crack quietly crunches through the surface of it, and then another appears, and then another. when something inside is satisfactory, Robin finally takes his hand away.
the large piece of glass crumbles at his feet, into maybe two-dozen smaller pieces, all different shapes and sizes, now inert and totally harmless.]
no subject
he gets close to the stone, puts his hand down on top of it, and says nothing.
this is only notable because he usually says something when he does magic. from what Tek has seen, Robin's magic needs written words and chalk circles, or some muttered prayer in that old language of his. his blood magic works without any of that, but that has been the only exception.
except for now, where the stone immediately seems to respond. the barest traces of magical aura inside of it begin to answer some unspoken call, slowly shifting and changing to fill the tiny, nearly indiscernible cracks in the glass that were left there by the impact of the lightning strike.
before the feeling of lightning can really get much purchase on the air around them, Robin gently closes his fist over the glass and the feeling of whatever is inside of it seems to die down. whatever lives in there isn't going to get out. instead, it keeps filling the material with slivers of glowing yellow that turn to veins of white, and grow and push until a crack quietly crunches through the surface of it, and then another appears, and then another. when something inside is satisfactory, Robin finally takes his hand away.
the large piece of glass crumbles at his feet, into maybe two-dozen smaller pieces, all different shapes and sizes, now inert and totally harmless.]