I give myself a moment to regroup, with ragged breaths, shaking hands, and pull myself together. Let the last dregs of whatever it was fade before sliding up and using the rock to stand again on Jello legs and lightheaded instability. Turning so I can trace out the sigil with a fingertip and anchor myself to it for support.
“What the hell, dude…Is this the effect of you leaving me? Because I spent my life under your protection and now my body feels it leave?”
I don’t even know why I'm talking to a rock. Or a sigil. It’s not like it can answer me back.
I guess it has to be a reason. A lifetime under a spell, even one that protects you, must infiltrate the very air around you and acclimatize your body to its power. Maybe what I felt was stepping out of its veil, where magic doesn’t exist,
