"I was in the tent," Erik explains, lifting his left hand up into the air. A small metal spike fashions itself off of the guardrail leading up the steps inside and begins changing shape, into a perfect sphere. "All the metal things began lifting up. Someone said my name, I was in this kind of trance. And they all drop." The sphere poofs into nothing and scatters a million glittering pieces into the wind, trailing colors and chiming sound. It's a far finer degree of control than the Erik Charles had first met.