They followed the line wherever it went, and it seemed they would be walking for a long time.
"Sonder," Vell said to gain her attention.
"Yes?" she replied.
"In your life, did you ever want to learn magic?"
"I don't know," she said after thinking, "there are many tales of wizards, though I can't remember any."
"Would you like to try?" Vell asked.
"Yes," she said, though she said it more to please her master than herself.
As they walked, he took her small hand and traced something onto it—though nothing appeared.
"That is the sign of heat," Vell explained, "now. With all your might, not your loudness; don't scream it, say Coh, and believe in the power of the word."
"That's it?" she asked and looked at her hand.
"That's it," he confirmed.
Sonder breathed in and out, though she didn't need to, and said, "Coh."
But nothing seemed to happen.
"Focus, Sonder. Power doesn't just fall into your lap when you're not looking. Believe in the power—the heat, the word, the significance of the word you're saying."
"Okay," she said and repeated once more, "Coh."
But the result was the same. There was absolutely nothing.
"Hm... maybe your undead status is interfering. Maybe magic like this is denied to you. As necromancy and everything related to it has been banned for such a long time, surviving research on the topic is hard to come by. Not that I have been looking out for any of it. How about some simple research first? How do you feel, Sonder? Emotionally and physically." Vell drew pen and paper from a small bag on his side.
"I don't know. I don't feel much of anything. It's as though, in life, I was a sharp blade... and now I'm dulled beyond dull."
"That's not very good. And you couldn't even talk at first. Maybe I am not as great a mage as the world had thought?" Vell said and put his writing utensils away.
"Who are you, anyway?" Sonder asked. "You called me the servant of the Dread Mage. Is that someone I should know?"
"Your memory must have been damaged by your time dead. How about food? Are you hungry?" He pulled out a small strawberry tart from his bag and gave it to her.
She took it, though she didn't feel very hungry, nor did she feel thirsty or tired for that matter.
In any case, she still took a bite out of it and chewed. There was a hint of a sweet taste and then she got very sad.
Her knees buckled and she began to cry. The smell of the tart reminded her of her parents and her brother.
"I want my mom! I want my dad! I miss my brother!"
"There, there," Vell consoled her.
"And—" she hiccuped, "the worst part is I don't know if they're still alive."