Sven spares Ifrit a quiet glance, flashing her a grin before he raises a soot-stained finger to his lips and nods. Don't worry, kid: this is the slightly tricky part, but if it works then they'll have a nigh inflammable towel for you to try--and, fingers crossed, fail--to incinerate.

A rush of familiarity slams into him and almost shocks him out of focus as he feels the Earth (his Earth) surround him, but the temptation to open his eyes and blink off this bizarre dream that has been his trip into the void evaporates quickly as he recognises it as Xander's magic. It's quite convincing, even if the absence of El'Nil'm's power on this familiar atmosphere sticks out to Sven like a face burned out of a photograph.

Eyes shut, Sven presses his palms down into the hot lines of the sigil. He doesn't need his eyes to "see" the shape: he can trace Xander's golden power moving towards him, the scorch marks on the floor channelling Xander's magic into him. Briefly he knows it, can catch a glimpses of its shape and nature. Wispy flames burst to life around Sven's hands, glowing embers flitting about him before disappearing into the air. He grinds his palms into the lines--smudging the marks on the floor outside of his personal vision--as he melds burning red magic into Xander's thread of gold, bolstering its power with his own and alloying it with El'Nil'm's authority over the elements.