The World Engine fired. Pure logic made manifest, a wave of absolute order that annihilated anything indefinable in its path.
The Invocation completed. Divine chaos unleashed, possibility made real, a storm of pure creation that dissolved structure into potential.
And where they met—
"Matter and mana annihilated each other," Grayson said. " The ground itself ruptured from pole to pole, and the very constants of the universe cracked."
James watched as Velatria tore itself apart. The projection showed it in excruciating detail. The moment when reality itself gave up trying to reconcile irreconcilable forces and simply broke.
A line of destruction spread across the continent, splitting it perfectly down the middle. But it wasn't just physical destruction. The wound went deeper than matter. It was a tear in the fabric of causality itself.
"The Schism Scar," Grayson said, and the projection zoomed in on the result.
Miles wide, stretching from the northern ice caps to the southern seas. A chasm where the laws of nature had been so thoroughly shattered that nothing... not magic, not technology, not even basic physics, functioned reliably. Space that folded in on itself. Time that ran backward or sideways or not at all. Matter that existed in superposition, both solid and liquid and gas simultaneously.
"It's why the Territories exist," Grayson continued. "The lands immediately adjacent to the Scar are... unstable. Magic works unreliably. Technology fails unpredictably. Both sides claimed them after the war, but neither could hold them. So they became neutral by default. Places where neither discipline dominates because neither can."
James stared at the Scar, his brilliant mind trying to model the physics and failing.
"How many died?" he asked quietly.
"In the final battle? Approximately forty million." Grayson's voice was hollow. "In the immediate aftermath, when the Scar's formation destabilized weather patterns and destroyed infrastructure? Another two hundred million. In the years that followed, from famine and plague and the collapse of civilization? Estimates range from half a billion to a full billion."
The numbers were too large to really comprehend. James tried anyway, his mind automatically calculating percentages, survival rates, the sheer magnitude of loss.
"That was the Cataclysm," Grayson said. "The final proof, both sides believed, that magic and science cannot coexist. That Aegon Valeria's dream was apocalyptically wrong. That the only safe path forward was absolute separation."
The projection faded, returning James's room to normal candlelight and Grayson sat in silence for a long moment.
"So when you ask questions about combining the disciplines," he finally said, "about whether maybe we learned the wrong lesson. Do you understand now why that's dangerous? Why both sides hunt people who think like that?"
James nodded slowly, his mind already dissecting everything he'd seen and analyzing it.
"Because they're afraid," he said. "Afraid it will happen again."
"Yes." Grayson looked at his son with tired eyes. "Fear of a second Cataclysm is the one thing both sides agree on. It's what keeps the cold war from going hot. It's why they tolerate the Territories existing. Better a neutral zone than risk another apocalypse."
James was quiet for a long time, appearing to process the story like a normal seven-year-old would. Inside, his thoughts were racing.
Three millennia of ignorance. Each side worshiping half a truth.
Language of Creation exists, and maybe Aegon simply didn't speak it fluently enough.
What if I could finish what he began?
What if I could heal the Schism?
The thought settled into his bones like destiny. It felt bigger than revenge, than ambition. A purpose that spanned lifetimes.
"James?" Grayson's voice pulled him back. "Are you alright?"
"I'm okay," James said, and smiled the way a properly sobered child would smile. "Thank you for telling me. I understand now."
"Good." Grayson stood, relieved. "Then you understand why you need to be careful with questions like the ones you've been asking. The world nearly ended once because someone thought they could bridge the divide. No one wants to see that happen again."
"I understand," James repeated.
It wasn't a lie, exactly. He did understand. He understood perfectly.
He understood that fear had calcified into doctrine, and doctrine into oppression.
If anyone could do what Aegon Valeria couldn't, it was him.
Definitely not now. But eventually.
When he was ready. When he'd mastered both disciplines so completely.
When he could speak the Language of Creation fluently enough to rewrite reality without breaking it.
Because to James, there was no magic or science. Only power. Power that only he deserved to wield.
Grayson said goodnight and left, closing the door behind him. James sat in the darkness of his room, staring at nothing and thinking everything.
I will finish what Aegon began, he thought. I will heal the Schism. I will find a way to Ashfeld even if I have to break time and space. I'll kill them all. I'll kill that witch.
Well what do you know... maybe a little of this had to do with revenge.