“Magic isn’t actual” you say. However completely different colleges of magic used for narrative functions do exist, if solely in literature. There’s Cthonic magic, the mysterious, cultish magic of the underworld present in Greek mythology. The delicate and understated (and mostly copied) magic of Tolkien, and no matter sizzling mess we’re calling the nonsense they use in Harry Potter. After which there’s Vancian magic.
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The dungeon is lit by flickering torchlight. The stone partitions are chilly to the contact and etched with unusual runes of a forgotten language. This historical tomb has not been disturbed by the skin world for hundreds of years. A halfling rogue has fastidiously disarmed the traps littering the hallway in order that they and their compatriots can attain the resting place of the cursed sarcophagus. All of the traps save one. Because the unseen axe descends to slice the unwitting rogue in half, a sudden, blinding mild fills the dim passageway. The axe stops inches from the halflings neck and clatters to the bottom. A wizard holds their hand out, their thoughts now clean of the very spell they simply forged. They have to research the spell as soon as extra and magically sear it into their reminiscence in the event that they want to forged it once more. However their sacrifice was value it, the occasion is secure.
