Failure. Repeat. Failure. Repeat.
How many timelines had Scanicsaft created and destroyed on a whim? Had he ever kept track?
This unfathomable, destructive power had numbed him.
Allistar had pleaded to the whims of time, and in return, time gave him every possible outcome except for the ones that he had wanted from it.
All that he could do was mindlessly repeat, and fail once more.
Failure. Repeat. Failure. Repeat. Failure. Repeat.
The endless cycle of disappointment enraged Allistar, and when the repeating rhythm of insurmountable torment reached a boiling point, he raged, lifting his fist and slamming it down at the center of the Great Glass.
The solid surface beneath Allistar's fist shifted as he heard a faint breaking noise. Allistar feels his heart drop to his guts as a million thoughts run rampant through his head. Lifting his shaking fist to see the damage, Allistar looks in horror as the Great Glass has a great crack splintering the center of it.
The Glass remained stable, despite the trauma inflicted on it. Allistar's sigh of relief turned to sorrow and introspection.
If this power could so easily be taken away from him, why doesn't he respect it? Why doesn't he treat it with the value and delicacy it deserves?
Introspection turned to self-loathing. He began resenting himself for being so wrathful towards such a wonderful gift. Then, Allistar asked himself a question that he truly couldn't answer.
Does he even deserve this power anymore?
Allistar stood silently in the observation room of his tower. Looking out to the star-specked skies of North Vernalfern. He saw the great beauty of the cosmos laid out above him. Colorful clouds of delicately crafted planets and stars millions of miles away... yet still visible to him.
It was like the universe was echoing back to herself, and it was beautiful.
As Allistar laid eyes on the night sky, he reflected on his past self. The past self who would spend every night looking up at those stars with hope; who would spend every night looking for a new way to push the limits of magic; and who would spend every day knowing that he did it all for...
...
Allistar looks back at the splintered, shivering Glass, and remembers the day that the Glass was gifted to him. A tear rolls down his cheek as he asks himself...
...Did he even deserve it then?