Emotions are a very common trigger for magical essence in a being.
Aether or Nyx—whichever river of power one draws from—emotions are the dam, the gate, the governor. Lose that grip, and the current spills. Spill too much, and the force that should have obeyed you turns wild, uncontrolled.
Nyx users can afford that recklessness. Their reserves are oceans—deep, dark, and overflowing. But an aether-user? One mistake, one surge too intense, and they drain themselves to a brittle husk, ripe for slaughter by even the weakest hunter.
That is why magicians are drilled from childhood: command your emotions or be consumed by them. A steady mind creates steady magic; a firm heart, a firm grip over every thread of essence.
And William—like every disciplined mage—had mastered that restraint. His aether rarely leaked. Even in combat, his control was glass-smooth.
But everyone has a breaking point.
A threshold where the mind fractures, emotions boil over, and training crumbles into dust.
