I trailed like a stray after the elven elder, Pyxis, she had introduced herself, following her to wherever this favor she wanted from me was. Well, not so much me, but from a Magis. She lives amongst a larger group that is likely mostly comprised of her extended family, but I can’t really say for certain. All the tents we passed, regardless of color, bore the same sigil: a ring with three feathers dangling from it. For some there was even a physical ornament, all brown feathers speckled in white and hanging from green copper rings. They drifted soundlessly in the breeze, without any bells or chimes attached.

We slowly made our way inwards, towards a tent that I could feel long before I saw it. It was heavily warded against magic, much like the hidden safe at Edelweiss, it created a dead-zone where leyline flow was inhibited. But what could be inside? It’s not like this nomad camp was an auction house charged with holding several extremely expensive items for others at once. With wards in the way, I would only know after we entered the tent assuming it was our destination.

Once in view, several things became apparent: one, whatever was in there was precious enough that they had placed it so several tents encircled it; two, they really did not want magic coming anywhere near it. The wards were placed liberally on the tent itself, and also forming a larger barrier outside the footprint of the tent. It was a double-layer ward; the sort of thing you usually only read about because of how superfluous it is. A basic ward is trouble enough, but two layers would require anchors, expensive anchors. Unless they had hunted the land dragon themselves… but that was an awful lot of effort.

I already knew it would feel terribly suffocating. It was effectively as magic free as any place could be. Not to think the worst of people that had been helpful and kind to me, but a double warded room would be one of only a few places you could easily kill a Magis without magic. If I stepped over the line, I would be willingly surrendering my ability to protect myself, and to perceive any dangerous intent around me.

I did not follow the fortuneteller as she stepped into the barrier’s outer layer.

I wouldn’t go any further until she explained what all this was about. The older woman and the young man faltered beside me, as if they were very familiar with crossing into the warded area. Perhaps they were, if it was important to the madame. Said elder noticed two steps in that I had stopped, and when she turned, she was unsurprised.

“Magis, within these wards is one of my greatest treasures, but I cannot do what must be done. I know that I am asking a great measure of trust from you, to enter such a place, but I am placing an equal measure in you.” She appeals further, “I cannot bring my treasure from this shelter, you will understand when you see, and you will know immediately what hand you hold. I have seen that you are keen.” She doesn’t quite beg, but I see how vulnerability flickers in her eyes.

Against better judgement, I trust her.

“…Alright.” Although I can’t feel her with the ward between us, I do feel how the magic jumps around in the people beside me, the minor innate energy fluctuating with their pulses. Tentative. Hopeful. Then tampered down.

I hold up a hand in the universal wait-a-minute gesture. With time to prepare there was no need to subject my wisp friend to the oppression of a heavy ward again. As it was, I could feel just how repulsive the idea of willingly entering a double-layer ward was to her. It would be a little finicky, but I could make an inverted barrier for her, like putting a fish into a bucket of water. I plucked the tiny spirit from my shoulder and wove a spell around her in the shape of a sphere. As a ball it would better resist the magical compression of the wards. As a final touch, I pulled a pale hair from my head and used its magical conductivity to reinforce the ball. Then it was just a matter of injecting magic into it, then she wouldn’t need to touch me to reassure herself I was still alive.

When I was done, I carried the small capsule in my arms and stepped over the ward line.

I take a moment to adjust to the constricting sensation and the eerie stillness. It raises goosebumps across my skin, although they’re hidden by the sleaves of my shirt. Moving forward, our little entourage stops again before the entrance flaps and the edge of the inner ward. This is where I set the capsule down, since I had effectively created a magic bomb, and stressing it further under the pressure of another ward is an unnecessary risk. Assuming whatever was inside was so fragile or magically sensitive that it needed two wards, it would be absolutely obliterated if the bubble burst.

They barely spared a glance, all their eyes set on the tent flaps now.

I almost expected it to be dark inside, given how hidden away it felt. But the inside was a vibrant green, lit by an open flap in the top that I hadn’t noticed from outside. The air was cooled manually by a block of ice…huh. It was strangely well decorated for a place that was storing treasure. A fine sheet of emerald silk was acting as a partition, canopied around a small patch of the floor.

And then, so quietly, like an exhale, a young voice calls out.

“Gr- grandma, is that you?”

And suddenly I understand like an icy bolt of lightning. This child is the ‘treasure’. I turn my head abruptly toward Pyxis, eyes wide.

“Why?” She steals the word from my tongue. I can only jerk my head to agree. She pulls back the curtain to reveal a young auburn-haired boy. “This is my youngest grandchild, you may have guessed this already,” her voice is a tad bitter, “but he has a matted core.”

“This child survived the fraying fever? But he’s at least eight, forgive me if this is too direct, but how did he make it this long?” My words turn into whispers of disbelief. Fraying fever, or fray-fever, is an illness that afflicts infants and always leads to death without immediate treatment. This boy should be dead. Any exposure to magic with a matted core would kill you—Ah, of course. So that was the purpose of the double-layer ward. To create a space as free of magic as physically possibly.

He had likely lived his whole life inside this tent. To step outside these wards would kill him. Even the minor ambient magic would be hard on him, but he would die the second he crossed a major leyline or attempted to use a gate. His core would shred apart under the stress.

This- fixing a matted core is beyond my experience.

They see it in my face, the denial I’m about to give. The old woman’s face looks much older than it has since I met her a couple hours ago. Even so, her eyes don’t look like she’s ready to give up. I glance towards the boy that had been silent all this time. And his face—it’s so resigned. Acceptance. And I know then that he has heard the words I would say before; enough times to expect them, enough times to never expect anything else. Again and again, I’m so sorry and there’s nothing I can do, again and again and again. He accepts this fate, and I-

I cannot, no, rather, I don’t want to.

“I can contact someone that is more suited for this,” I offer. I thought that would make them feel better, but no one looks happy.

“That’s what the others said, too,” the young man finally speaks up, “but it’s been years, and no one has come.” His anger and frustration on his family’s behalf permeates his voice. “I’m starting to think that’s just how you Magis say ‘No.’ to get out of things you don’t want to do.” He takes a tense step towards me, but the other woman puts her hand on his arm to still him and shakes her head. She looks like she’s about to apologize for him, but I cut her off.

“You’re right,” I disarm him by agreeing, “often Magis prefer to refuse indirectly like that. However, my offer is sincere, and I can call on someone that would be better suited for this. This sort of thing falls more under her specialty than it does mine.”

Pyxis cuts back in, catching my focus. “We have sent many appeals to the Magis academy and the guild, yet we have never received a positive response. We have even resorted to pulling in passing Magis in the hopes that one of you would help, but we face only refusals there as well.” She reaches out to grasp my hands. “How long must we wait? My Orion is suffering, now, not in the future, but right now. Please, Magis, if there is anything you can do to help him-” she pauses to compose herself, loosening her unconscious clutch on my hands. “You say you are unsuited, but you never said that you could not do it, so please, I beseech you to try. We would be greatly indebted to you.” She holds me in her endless night sky eyes, gouging her words into my heart.

I furrow my eyebrows, torn inside. I want to help them, to help Orion, but should I? When I know there are people that can do it better than I can, is it right for me to interfere? I am stuck, so the words of Teacher Rona step in through a memory: If you want to do something, then do it. Trust your desire, trust your wishes, trust your will, to ensure that you do it well. No matter how it goes, I promise you won’t regret trying.

I take a steadying breath.

“I’ll try.” They look ecstatic, cheering and hugging one another. “But I make no promises about the results.” I try to temper their expectations.