Magic Of Its Own Type, The Birth of Magic

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“No, not like it used to.” She chuckled, a soft thing, a subtle laughter that felt like velvet. He had been that young mage not too long ago.

He had come in one day, on a trip to get something for Trent. Hours later, he had been found by Marin wandering through the endless shelves of oddities. Branch remembered the excitement he had felt walking through them for the first time. How endless it had seemed. Like he could wander and search and scour the whole place, and still have seen just a fraction of what it held. There were statues, and vessels of all sorts, there were manuscripts and precious stones, rocks that seemed to have no value and random bits of wood. Many things seemed arbitrary and misplaced. Maybe it was, the place was a cavern that seemed to swallow whatever wandered in.

“I could get lost in here again.” He said.

“Are you sure you weren’t already, I saw that far off look coming into your eyes there.” She held the lantern up as she said this.

“Thank you then! I was about to be lost and didn’t realize it.” He said laughter rippling through his words.

They had fun, always had. Two explorers in thoughts and all the small things of life. Maybe it was something they had inadvertently known about one another, maybe the Exchangery just showed who was this kind of person. A place could do that, draw out a characteristic from a person. Really just lay it out there.
It was easy to become fast friends with two people saw the same intrigue in something. That was a rare thing, a shared understanding. It was a magic of its own type.

#writerofage
#woa
Read from the beginning: The First Page

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