[WP] Every world has an opportunity for magic to enter at some point in its history. We just missed our chance.

...

It's obvious to me, that you have potential to do real magic." Eron spoke from across the campfire, gently stirring the rising flames as his fingers lifted in slow circles. "But I find it strange how little of it you seem to hold onto."

"Hold onto... I'm still piecing together how this all works, you might have to explain that last bit again." Across from Eron, a younger and bearded man flicked through the pages of a worn book, featureless bindings crinkled and splintering in several places. "This is in reference to the 'Taking in the essence of the world, and containing it' portion of spell-craft, right?" Looking up from the pages of his text, the man's eyes tracked as odd translucent shapes fluttered along the fire's light, winding about him as if in orbit.

Eron watched as well. It never ceased to amaze how many of them there were: He'd only ever seen one other person who shared such a quality.

"Well, yes... To make a cast using the Western-taught magics, you need to take in the mana of the world in some form or another, and adjust it." Eron ceased his hand motions, drawing in a fist. "Like breathing in, and then..." The flame lit, simmering and floating along his palm as if held by the wick of some invisible candle. "Most who can do magic hold some of this knowledge instinctively. I would imagine you have the same capacity."

"I'm not so sure." The bearded man replied, rubbing at his beard as he set the book down on the log bench beside him. "That breathing it in part is what gets me. I can't even light a candle- and trust me, I've tried."

"Well, that's what seems so strange to me as well. It's really as though magic never seems to stop breathing through you, from my perspective." Eron let the first dance about his hand, jumping and twirling from finger to finger. "I know this might come out strange, but if I had to describe it: I would say that magic seems to love you. Just look at all the fae."

Eron's tiny flame jumped into the air, dissipating into a small shower of embers as more ethereal shapes fluttered in and out of existence. Dozens of them were present in the moonlight, glowing and flying with odd arcs in and out of the world's view. Up and around, they seemed to float along on their own pace and currents, all tied to the man below.

"It's very rare that so many come together, Fae don't gather around just anyone." Eron watched them, some were even slowing and settling down; resting on the shoulder of the man sitting across the fire. "In most cases, I would say having a single faerie near a person would be strange enough... but you've gone and collected... must be hundreds of them by now."

"The Fae, huh? Old Nan taught me a bit about them when I first came here." The bearded man leaned forward as the wind picked up, letting his hands warm by the fire. "Her husband Tom had one, a mean thing settled deep into his sword."

"Ah... A spirit of war and bloodshed." Eron pulled his woolen cloak up, covering the thin prickles of growing hair that dotted his shaven head. "They're legendary things, spirits that follow beings to battle and interfere in the realm of mortals... Could you see it, truly?"

"A part of it." The bearded man replied, hesitantly. "Nan said I could only see a part of it. It reminded me of a serpent, or a viper."

"That's also very rare. That is had a true form..." Eron considered the statement, eyes watching the fire. "What of all of the others, the ones that seem to be bound to you now?"

"Ah, them? I see them too, sometimes as wisps, and sometimes as more. They're not like that one was though. They're much less... Hmm..." The words ended in thought. "They don't hate anything." He finally said. "They're just... well if they wanted to, I know they could just leave. I don't think that old Tom's Fae could have left that sword, even if it wanted to."

"For the time we've travelled together so far, you do not often provide much insight to your thoughts." Eron looked up from the flames as he spoke, watching the younger man from across the campfire. "Would you let me ask a different question, if you don't mind?"

"Sure."

"It's about your... well your world. Where you came from- I don't mean to pry, but I'm curious."

"That's fine, Eron. You can ask away, I'll try my best to answer." The man nodded, hands folding on his lap. "You've answer more than enough of mine already."

"Well, it's just that you've said before, that your world doesn't have magic. I just wonder: Why do you insist on that statement?"

"Well, it didn't have magic. Praying to the gods, or 'breathing in for mana didn't do anything."

"But from what I've seen, it seems very much like your world did have magic. You've shown to have possession of impossible instruments that defy any other explanation I can come up with."

"You mean the car? The gun?"

"Yes, and some of the other things you've shown me... You call them machines, or tools. To me they seem much more involved." Eron lifted his hand and drew another spark of fire into the air. "To me, they look a lot like magic."

"Hmm..." The reply came, thoughtfully. "Well, would you consider a water-wheel for grinding grain to be magic?"

"A water-wheel? No, probably not unless someone placed runes into the wood..."

"Right, well that's just a tool right? That's why I don't consider them magic." He replied. "The car, the gun: These things can be really complicated at times, but they're just machines and tools. Like a water-wheel."

"That's a rather unsatisfying response." Eron frowned, unconvinced.

"Well, I don't know how to explain it properly... I guess it comes from where you draw the line on what you consider magic, and what you think is just a passive property of material." The man rubbed further at his beard, a roughly trimmed thing of thick dark hair as he continued. "Like the strong Dwarven liquor I feed into the car. The real reason I do this isn't because the car is thirsty, but because when that liquid exposed to a flame or a spark: the liquor can ignite." From his jacket, the bearded man drew forth a small flash of polished metal, deftly unscrewing the cap to pour a tiny bit upon the flame.

It flared with a sudden rise of heat, and brows. Grinning slightly, the flask returned to its hidden jacket pocket.

"Do you consider that magic, or just a property of the Dwarven craftsmanship for refining their product? In my world, we'd just label that a chemical property."

"That's... Hmm... an interesting perspective." Eron thought on it, curious. In the past of his tower training he had been forced to read many texts. Some of them described the innate properties of imbued substances with a very similar approach. "I suppose I might consider it a passive magical element. A uniqueness to the liquid." He answered honestly.

"Well then, for the sake of simplicity we'll draw the line there. In my world Passive Magical elements are the only types of magic that exist. No one was lighting fires in the palm of their hand, no one was shooting lightning or flying."

"I'm still not convinced. No place can be entirely without magic, perhaps as worst only severely lacking in it."

"I can assure you, if that's the case- then my world was severely lacking."

"It just seems impossible for an entire world to have an absence of magic. It would be against the known laws of nature."

"Maybe for this world, but everything I've shown you from mine is just science and logic applied to physical materials. If you think the end result is magic, then you're overlooking the thousands of years people spent in failure trying to make those things work." Eyes once again descending on the fire, the man picked up a spare log to poke at the flames. "Everything was the result of countless failures, all amounting to one success. Improvements were added in the next generations of people after that, along the way. The car over there is a great example. The first cars invented were terrible comparatively."

"But that car as you call it. It can carry us all, and it never needs to stop for food or water- even after countless miles. All you ever do is provide it the liquor." Eron gestured behind them, at the dark shape parked beside the campsite. "To me, that all seem's quite impossible. A strange metal demon that runs on liquor: It seems a lot like magic."

"Right, it seems like it- but it's not. It's just a machine: The liquor explodes into fire when exposed to a tiny spark, that force of combustion expands outward in a really thick case of very strong and shaped metal to push a piston, and that piston takes some of that force to move and pass on that motion." The man waved his hand absently, prattling on. "Eventually, through some very clever engineering, that force makes it to the wheels, which turn and take us forward. When we're inside that car, we're really just riding a complicated and organized chunk of metal built around a bunch of tiny and organized explosions. None of that has anything to do with magic, except may the fact that the liquor can explode at all."

"That..." Eron found he was at a loss. "That actually does make a bit of sense... I just can't imagine why anyone would bother when there is a better way-"

"Right. But there wasn't a better way: That's the thing. I mean, just imagine if you couldn't solve your problems with magic. Think of how difficult things would be, and then just pull that back a few thousand years: That's my world. When people had a problem, they try to build a tool to solve it. So on and so forth, generation on generation of tools and improvements."

"So you really haven't ever had magic in your world?"

"Not unless there was some way back in ancient times. I mean, there are really old legends and religions from thousands of years ago that some people believe..." He trailed off again. "I don't know. Maybe? Maybe we had it, and it left."

"That's a possibility."

The spare log fell heavy on the fire, thousands of tiny sparks flaring up into the sky with smoke and cinder. A face of seriously consideration marked the flare, thoughts of many unspoken thoughts and avenues twisting and turning behind troubled eyes. The silence stretched, crackle of the campfire a soft backdrop to the distant snores of sleeping companions, and the whistle of wind over trees.

"Present day in my world, there are definitely no magics like what I've seen here. Just tools and machines, and whatever passive magic qualities you want to think they're made of." He spoke with a soft finality. "If it was there a long time ago and we lost it, or if it was never there at all: I don't think it makes a difference. We made do without it."

Eron watched as the metal flask made a second appearance- tipping back far before passing it across to Eron's waiting hand. "Your world must be very strange." Eron said, accepting the offer and taking a deep drink of his own. It burned, hot sensation sinking deep in his chest and stomach as he returned it empty.

Eron wondered at that heat, questioning the feeling as it crept into his mind with a buzzing rise of warmth, as his companion by the fire rose to head towards the snoring camp. He watched as they stumbled off, hand clenching and opening as they stared at it with intense focus, making way into the distant shadows of night.

The sparks flashed there with small brilliance: Light casting like faulty signals. Distantly, Eron heard the man mumble- perhaps to no one in particular but himself.

"Yeah. My world is definitely the strange one."