The darkness in the basement grew deeper as Brigit impishly toed the line of erasing a point of a rune. “Just how powerful will I become, Ancient one?”
The Hooded figure raised its head and peered at the mage. His red-tinged eyes seemed to flash as he imagined himself being free of this prison of her making. “Tha eíste pio ischyroí apó tous perissóterous mágous tou styl sas.”1 He stated as he stretched his essence against the barrier of draoidheacd that kept him bound.
A satisfied smile crossed Brigit’s face. “Will I be as strong as he is?” She didn’t have to mention the name of her self-appointed nemesis, for she had cried it to the night sky for many years, and the darkness in the form of the Ancient One had answered her.
The hooded head tilted to the left as he considered her question. “Tha échete énan epimerismó tis dýnamís mou. Eímai avévaios an tha eínai arketó, allá i dýnamí mou den eínai asímanti.”2 Again, he reached out and brushed against the barrier, causing the draoidheachd…
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