The Long Retreat No. 41

“I saw…” she trailed off, blinking against the light of the setting sun. “I saw the world.” She sat back, and her voice grew softer. “It was beautiful.”

Falthejn smiled and left her to her thoughts for a few minutes. “Now, your mind can show you the true nature of things. On the other hand, it knows how magic looks, and how to ignore it. It shouldn’t bother you nearly as much.”

“Can I see it again?” Sif asked.

“You can,” Falthejn confirmed. “You don’t even need my help. The trick isn’t feeling magic. Most people can tell it’s there, if it’s loud enough. The trick is making sense of it. That said, think before you go looking. The more you see of magic, the easier it becomes for you to work your will on it. If you do that, you risk breaking the fabric of things, or drawing the eye of things not to be named, or bringing a magiker-hunter down on your head.”

“A magiker-hunter?”

“Those the guilds of the magiker entrust with the task of finding those who would use magic carelessly. They offer a choice: join or die.”

“That’s not much of a choice,” Sif observed.

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