...The library was alive with humming light as Gale worked through the night, seeking the solution that always seemed one more spell away. The Orb burned against his chest, its hunger never quite satisfied, its demands growing more insistent as the moon waned. He'd reached for too much, too quickly, and the gap between ambition and competence had nearly consumed him. But he couldn't stop reaching, because stopping meant accepting limitation, and limitation was a death of a different kind.

He spoke aloud to the empty room, practicing the charm and wit that held the world at arm's length, that made his brilliance seem like entertainment rather than the desperate reaching of someone who knew exactly how far he'd fallen. The Orb sang its hunger-song, and he sang back, defiant and terrified in equal measure, because this was the only magic left to him now, the magic of refusing to surrender even when surrender looked like mercy...