Arriving at Issar Roon's study, you find a sliver of light squeezing through the door and its frame. Cautiously, you open the door with both hands. Stepping into the room, you notice the old man thoroughly engaged with the same orange book you saw on your previous visit. Afraid to interrupt, you turn to leave.

No! Stay here! I have need of you.

Slightly frightened by his powerful command, you turn back to the old man's desk and sit on the obscured symbol etched into the rug. Hoping the old man just wants your help with another book, you silently wait for him to finish.

After what seems like hours, you chance a quick glance at the old man. His brow is creased with concentration, and his eyes move intently across the pages faster than a horse frightened by a mountain cat. You decide it may be a while, and begin to watch the candle flames dance atop their pedestals of wax.

Have you come for another story? I caution you against curiosity. I know the Multiverse is a tempting place filled with many kinds of adventures and adventurers, but don't be getting ideas in that small head of yours. Without a spark, or one with it to aid you, you will never see anything beyond your own world.

You remain silent out of fear that the old man will take words as confirmation that you would believe his fatuous stories.

Ahh….The spark! How wondrous and rare it is. Did you know that among millions of beings, only one is born with a planeswalker's spark? Even more miraculous, among millions of those born with a spark, only one will have it ignite sending them down a path of unlimited possibilities.

The old man's eyes light up as he begins talking excitedly.

Any sentient being can have the spark, and not even know it. A minotaur, an elf, a dragon, even the boy who cleans the lanterns in the hall could have a planeswalker spark ignite and send him to new worlds. No one knows where the spark comes from. Some say it is bestowed upon those chosen as Gaea's children. Others say that the spark is a small piece of the Blind Eternities through which everything is connected. Even others refuse to believe that there is an explanation, stating that it is chaotic and cannot be explained in such a way that sentient beings would understand.

Though very few people meet a person with a planeswalker's spark in their lifetime, even less see the ascension of a planeswalker. The event is one you could never forget, watching a mere mortal come face to face with their greatest enemy, and survive to become something even more powerful, something beyond a mere wizard or mage could ever hope to reach. Unlike the most powerful sorcerers, planeswalkers are able to travel across worlds with a thought, conjure immense energy from nothing and unleash it in a fiery blast, and even summon creatures from other worlds to fight for their cause.

Though his eyes still hold a bright flame within, the old man's voice grows slower and quieter.

Ahh, but times have changed. There was a time when planeswalkers were gods among the people. They didn't require sleep nor food nor air to live. In fact, some even survived without bodies for many years. Over time, the Multiverse became unable to support these deities. During a period known as the Mending many planeswalkers sacrificed their sparks and lives to restore balance to the Multiverse.

In doing so, they altered the very nature of a planeswalker's spark. They are no longer god-like beings, but require all the things you and I do in our daily lives. They are still beyond anything a mere wizard could achieve, but they are no longer immortals playing with the fabric of time and space.

Issar Roon's body bends over the desk, causing him to look more like an old man than his usual fiery self.

Of course, there are those who believe the change is not permanent. Some planeswalkers seek their former glory among the planes, searching for some ancient power or artifact that can restore their immortality. Personally, I think they search in vain. The Multiverse now belongs to the younger planeswalkers, the ones who have only recently ascended to a position of possibility. They are the ones who will shape our future, and lead us down a path of their choosing. I just pray they take us to brighter days…

The old man stops his story and stares at nothing. His face is expressionless, but his eyes seem to focus on something in a distant dream. You wonder what use the old man had for you, and if you can fulfill it at another time when he is more aware of his surroundings. Slowly, you get up to leave. When the old man fails to react, you make your way out of the study, only pausing long enough to close the door behind you.