Secrets?

Dom dreamed.

In his dream, the earth was open to him. Darkness and light were poured away, as was love, fear, wrath, patience, life itself, all distractions.

All that was left were the secrets.

The world is full of them, the world is built on them. Secrets are the currency of the universe, and knowing them grants access to the deeper, more desperate tracts of knowing.

Magic, the art of knowing enough to manipulate, was to him his own nature. Physics unsnarled itself and thence removed itself from the equation. He saw the back ways of existence, the things creation hides, the low places, the high reaches, the depths of knowledge to which no man has ever dared to explore.

Esotericism became irrelevant. Time doubly so. Meaning twisted back upon itself as space and time contorted to accommodate the magnitude of a new direction: a thirst for that which all men crave replaced by a greed for that which no men know.

Control.
Power.
Choice. For indeed, true power is merely the capacity to control and to understand the gravity and breadth of the choices one makes. He understood that in his dream.

There was power in his hands, in his mind, and in his heart. He was united. He was in possession. He knew what others dared not grasp at.

He was himself, and more than himself, and more than that: he understood.

He woke in darkness, but didn't fear it. He'd known darkness before, by now he understood it.