He was outside, though not completely in the sunlight. It looked and felt like he stood in a train station entrance, a small one, anyway, nowhere near as large as the one he’d stood in withhis father less than a half-hour ago. Above him, a round symbol in red and blue was made out of ceramic tiles, dirtied by smoke and dust.
His heart thumped loudly in his chest but he daren’t move from the wall.
He was still trying to decide if he should phase back through the wall, even with all of these Magicals walking to and fro, when another realization came to him.
These people had no magic.
He could scarcely see auras around any of them.
The thought made him light-headed, even before he fully comprehended what it meant. Then it clicked, and his anxiety grew into something closer to terror.
Overworld.
Gods and dragons… his father would absolutelymurderhim. He’d lock him in the dungeon until after the snows melted, if not until he reached nineteen. Had he really phased into the dark kingdom of Overworld? Why would his magic bring himhere,of all places? Usually a logic of some kind guided his phasing, some rhyme or reason to where he ended up, particularly when he did it on accident.
He was still panting, fighting that feeling he might pass out––
He felt eyes looking at him.
Someone was staring.
Someone finally noticed him standing against the wall.
He turned his head before he could think about disappearing, before he could even pull the spell out of his mind, or remember the exact mudras that went with it, and then he froze.
It was a girl. Just a small girl, younger than him.
Black, curly, wild hair, shockingly large green eyes, a half-open, surprised mouth. She wore a fluffy pink jumper with lime-green, stretchy trousers with little lines on them. A backpack hung low on her back, covered in purple and blue dragons and unicorns.
She definitely looked younger than he was, but not by much.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
The mere fact of their locked gazes was strange enough, startling enough, Caelum missed everything else about her for a full two breaths.
Then it hit him, what he was actually seeing.
Magic swirled around her.
Not a small amount of magic: a volcanic, unruly, startling, chaotic, dizzying amount of magic. It sparked and flashed in a thick aura caged behind black, spiderweb lines, a meshed web of ironlike spells that held her in, possibly to keep her from exploding outwards. The colorful, wild, storm-like magic slammed and rushed and twisted against the restraint like a wild beast locked in a too-small pen.
Something drew his eyes upwards then, and he gaped openly.
A sharp, white and blue sun exploded into his view.
It burned brightly, several feet above her head, feeding that caged magic with all of its power and wrath, sparking brighter the longer he stared.
It was beautiful.
Gods of the Underworld, he’d never seen anything, anywhere, on anyone, as beautiful and fierce as that rotating, burning, pulsing little light.
He didn’t understand why, but it made him want to cry.
12
Forsooth’s Magic
