The metallic taste of a transport spell tainted my lips. I watched as the Thaumaturge mumbles his strange words and a glistening silver portal materializes. I am there to witness history. Father released his grip on my arm as the shape solidified in front of our eyes. I wished he wouldn't; he made me feel so much safer, especially in the presence of such previously unused magic. A tingling feeling spread over my skin, like I was being bathed in a spell, but I dismiss it as excitement. The Thaumaturge stepped back from him work and smiled at us triumphantly. Father walked to him and they turned away, already talking about the Games on that night. I remained, watching the portal warily. I could see right through it, but what I saw wasn't logical. Magic itself isn't logical, I convinced myself.
Through the rippling quicksilver, I could see towering columns of grey stone. Faint sounds escaped, but they were oddly hollow, as if not all of themselves could reach me. Another flickering shape caught my eye. I watched it harden into the shape of a tall boy. His hair was the only thing that looked remotely substantial, and the wind moved it around his head while the sunlight turned it golden. I stared at him, and he stared right back at me, through me, as though I was to him what he was to me: a transparent shadow. He lifted his hand to touch the edge of the doorway, and the pulsing light quickened, excited, somehow, by the presence of this other-worlder. I copied him, fascinated by his bronze skin.
Our fingers connected, and somehow there was nothing between us. Our eyes locked and I was thrown backwards. The boy's eyes widened and he flinched, trying to take back his hand. I gripped it tighter though, knowing full well that I would not survive if he let go. He hesitated, then smiled crookedly and squeezed my hand. Then he tugged me forward. The trees and hillside around me glowed orange with heat, my hair was on fire. I fell, and the last thing I knew was the burning touch of the boy's fingers on my wrist.