A faint sensation brushed against one of his frozen, clawed hands, so subtle he might have missed it if not for the light shifting towards his fingers. The illumination condensed and intensified, drawing his focus to a delicate object now resting in his grasp.
It was a messenger string.
There was already something inscribed onto it,
a faint etching of another wizard’s magic,
yet there remained space for more.
It was a gift beyond measure.
Whatever presence was here
had offered to listen,
to bear witness
to his final testament.
Salgier poured
his words into the string,
each syllable
a fragment of his essence,
to save all wizards
who would come after him,
to warn those who remained
to fight the Shaira,
to protect wizardryand thus, the world,
from witches.
Salgier wrote,
until all of him was exhausted,
leaving behind
a legacy of uncertain hope
and defiance.
It was a messenger string.
There was already something inscribed onto it,
a faint etching of another wizard’s magic,
yet there remained
space for more.
It was a gift
beyond measure.
Whatever presence
was here
had offered
to listen,
to bear witness
to his final testament.
Salgier poured
his words into the string,
each syllable
a fragment of his essence,
to save all wizards
who would come after him,
to warn those who remained
to fight the Shaira,
to protect wizardryand thus, the world,
from witches.
Salgier wrote,
until all of him was exhausted,
leaving behind
a legacy of uncertain hope
and defiance.
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