A scrying circle shimmered to life before the old man, like a mirror of soft blue light, revealing a clear image of Kent's current life as Phillip Salt.
He watched as the young man—sharp-eyed and full of cunning—walked away from his confrontation with Lily White, his aura now brimming with a quiet, confident fire.
A fire many before him lacked.
"So many fated ones," the old man mused, "all of them failed at this stage. Some turned selfish, others too attached. A few even fell into obsession and corruption. But this boy... This Phillip Salt—or should I say, Kent—he's weaving the strings like a skilled spider."
He flicked his wrist, and the image changed.
Now it showed Manuka Lan, silently brewing a delicate potion from Moonshade leaves under a violet lantern, her fingers steady, her face unreadable—but her thoughts clearly disrupted. She paused occasionally, her expression taut, her mind drifting.
