“A slight improvement.” The distorted voice of your grandfather reverberates from behind the Helmet of Fate. His arms are folded across his chest, and you can feel him watching you as the flame on the taunt piece of string goes out.

Another one of Doctor Fate’s pointless exercises - having you make a flame move across a piece of string without the string burning, or the flame going out. He insisted this was vital for your concentration and discipline, but all it achieved was giving you a pounding headache afterwards. Hours, days, of ritual practice, devoting long spells and chants to heart, etching pentagrams into salt on the ground, memorising sigils and symbols…

Your mother Zatanna had always coddled you and insisted you didn’t need to practise magic, but the power inside of you had bubbled up and burnt outwards, scarring those around you. Zatanna had begged Doctor Fate to teach you, and he reluctantly agreed. He owed the both of you, somehow. Doctor Fate could hear Giovanni’s voice in his head, making him more sympathetic to you and your mother.

“You’re impatient.” He steps forward and takes the string, disappearing it into his hands. “Do you think what you’re doing is pointless? Your discipline and concentration is lacking. You will never be able to handle any of the more complicated spells under pressure if your mind is weak.”

Internally, he knew you were young and struggling to deal with your magic. Giovanni’s influence on his mind made him a little softer toward you than he usually would be toward young magic users. But on the outside, he steeled himself.