Ptolemy has such a fire burning in him, Nathaniel realizes. He’s soft, and sweet, and his smile is lopsided and he drives so carefully and always uses his blinker and snuggles down into oversized cardigans, but underneath this, there is so much power, so much drive, so much…so much fire.
Ptolemy burns a path for himself. Nathaniel spent his last life following the burnt paths of thousands before him, pretending he was scorching earth that was already blackened by light. He left one brilliant fire going in the scrub brush for magicians who followed him to marvel at, but it is nothing compared to Ptolemy. Ptolemy found ground that no magician would ever pave and carved it out, and believed fully that he would be followed.
He backs down from nothing. He backs down to no one. He does it with white chalk scouring his nice blue cardigans and ink streaking on his cheek and a tired smile and reeking of coffee, but when Nathaniel looks into his eyes, dark and distant and far away, he is lost in them.
He gives his hand to Ptolemy and lets himself be guided for the first time. It is less safe than he anticipated.
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