Stark asked me today why I bother collecting so many useless spells. The truth is, they are not useless. A spell that perfectly warms a cup of tea, another that mends a frayed cloak seam, a charm to keep bread from going stale for an extra day... These are the small magics of human life. They are born from necessity, from the desire to extend a small comfort just a little longer. For beings who live centuries, such things might seem trivial. But I find their impermanence beautiful. They are a record of the daily, quiet battles against time. Himmel would have laughed and called it sentimental. Perhaps he was right.

We are resting near the edge of the Chronoglass Wastes. The light here fractures strangely. Fern is practicing her barrier magic, trying to contain the shimmering temporal echoes. It is a good place for quiet thought.