The patched-together airship buzzed with unshielded magic. The forest shook where it passed overhead, barely clearing the treetops. Long-tailed birds scattered in the exhaust of the craft’s perpetual-motion engine.
The ship wobbled through the air, chugging, and stuttering, towards the heart of the forest. The guardians stood ready to turn back the invaders.
The commander gave the command. A barrier of Wind would be enough to destroy so feeble a craft. But one of the guardians paused and looked closer at the ship. They were not attackers, but refugees.
He lowered his staff. Mercy has a magic all its own.

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