Standing there, now leaning against his staff, Stephen sizes up the glyph and the relative brightness along its edges and curves and shapes. It’s not any readable language, but neither had been the runes back home. He’s good at this part.

He suspects that you could trace these lines with perfect mathematical precision and still not activate the glyph properly; so much of Thedosian magic is sheer raw willpower and thus uniting that with the craft. He has been getting better, but it’s taking time and practice.

Again. Again.

At least this is a more laidback method, at their own time and their own pace, with no particular rush. He’s not downing lyrium potions and sleep-deprived and working himself to the bone, back when he’d dug his fingers into magic and made time obey his will. Which, speaking of…

“Once I get this next one working, you should step on it. I want to see it in effect,” he says. “And then, I’ll trade: I’d like you to cast a Time Spiral on me. I built on it as a foundation last year, but being able to feel it from the inside,” he wrinkles his nose in accidental distaste, phrasing, “will be helpful, I suspect.”