Foundling
Each step delivered a puff of dust.
The dust clogged his nose and covered his clothes in a layer of soot. He took careful measure to avoid the splintered stumps as he stepped over shattered tree trunks and broken branches. Then, slowly, the blasted landscape began to change, to become overrun by clinging vines, moss climbing the face of burnt trees, shoots pushing up from beneath gray ash until the charred landscape became green and verdant once again. Soon the very air shimmered, danced, as if light itself were alive. He recognized the effects of power not properly focused, the result of a mind not properly trained. Some effects of power’s lingering he was able to dissipate so that that ene
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