I stare up into the beautiful depths of the astral plane. The dazzling, shifting lights seem more wondrous than ever before now that I know that each and every one of them is alive. Yet despite this, I float amidst the home I built with my own two hands in a loneliness that I made with my own two hands.

No family to keep me tethered to the ground.

I worry about them; I don’t even know how long it’s truly been, but at the very least I have spent months in this dazzling prison. I wonder how they’re holding up. Oh god, I pray that they’re okay. Even if that prayer is bound to do nothing. Even if I can't fix anything, no matter how hard I try.

I feel sick to my empty stomach, robbed of food by this foreign dimension as my mind betrays me and forces me to replay every instance that I had to break up a fight, build a bond, comfort someone. While I ponder the possibility that I haven’t been gone for months, but rather years, centuries, millenia. The only people I’ve spoken to are either from some strange alternate magical civilization, or are a monstrous slave master. If I’m interacting with stuff from the material plane, where am I interacting with it, hell when am I interacting with it? Am I interacting with another dimension, or are they aliens?

Thoughts swirl in a never-ending loop, but despite that, I stand up, I close my eyes, I breathe in, I breathe out, and I am as calm as I can be. Dizzying patterns of thought slow and stop, and I open up my eyes.

In as calm and sure of a voice as I can, I say, “It’s going to be fine; my family doesn’t need me; I am but a small piece of everything else.”

I am a speck of dust floating in space, a raindrop amidst the rain, a single match in the darkness. It is only amongst others that dust becomes stars, that drops become the storm, and a match becomes a beacon of light in the dark. While I am small it also means that long after I’m gone, the stars will still shine, the storms shall die and pour, the light shall continue to grow.

Significantly calmed down, I bring myself to more practical matters, actually getting out of this damned place. While it may have some dazzling sights, I want to touch some grass, have a cup of tea, listen to music, bite into a chocolate bar. I want to see my family again, I want to make my mother proud, I want them to cheer with me, I want to become one of the roots that anchors the tree.

To do this, I need a plan—a good one. But before I get too ahead of myself let's get me out of this cramped armor.

I think to myself my armor is weightless before a shiver overtakes my body as I remember a time where it very much wasn't, when instead it turned into my prison as I was dragged across the stone floor. Looking down at my former pride and joy, I endeavor to take it off as fast as possible.

Twisting the helmet off, I let my beautiful hair poof out from the confines of the steel, its bountiful locs that I painfully retwist myself instead of employing my solid light hairstylist. I smile, enjoying the feel of my hair, even if it direly needs some proper hair care instead of just a satin pillow, and careful washes.

Grabbing my gauntlets, careful to not mess with the enchantments, I pull them off. Then, using my freed hands, I grip the edge of my chestplate and pull it off, all the while furiously wiggling. I sigh, annoyed by the difficulty of taking tops off without the assistance of gravity, before floating in the air I slowly and awkwardly pull off first my boots, and then my leg guards.

Finally free of the confines of my armor and in a much more reasonable jumpsuit, I take my infinite notebook from one of the pockets I sewed in and approach the center of the room, my throne.

Carefully, I float my way to my throne of ribbons and pull myself onto the seat, holding myself down with the various colorful straps. The simple but beautiful sight of the ribbons dancing around me brings me a small smile while I look down upon my own constructed planet below me and the entirety of the astral beyond it.

Sighing I return to my task, figuring out a plan for getting myself out of this situation. I play with a pencil I grab from the chaos that is my throne room/planning room, the hexagonal filled with dozens of paper plans and ribbons floating in zero-g, constantly knocking into each other and moving around. I smile, looking at the beautiful storm of paper and cloth, as I tap the leather binding of my notebook and think of solutions to my woes.

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One does come to mind immediately, but it is not likely to succeed in the way I hope.

Rely on others to send me home.

While I can’t cast the spells necessary, surely somebody else can, and it can’t be that hard to modify the spell to target me instead and send me home.

But while I might believe in the general goodness of sapients, I am uncomfortable with the idea due to just how much leverage they would have over me. You’d have to either be a saint or just plain gullible to make someone else your only way to escape prison, when they are more incentivized to keep you while they dangle the key just out of reach.

I shiver, for I can clearly picture a world in which I would tirelessly work for someone only for them to constantly hold a solution over my head to string me along, all the while using me for practically free labor.

While the demands of leaving this plane will require me to seek the help of others simply due to the fact that no one succeeds alone in much of anything, much less in something so ridiculous as teleporting to another dimension with no guide, I still need some other avenues if I am to not be turned into a slave in all but name.

But what could it be? From my understanding, Shaman’s explanation holds water, explaining why I couldn’t do certain things and why some of the spells spoken of in the histories of my spell book aren't available for me.

For example, while I was poring through the book in an attempt to actually figure out the mechanics behind this magic, I read about the most absurd leader, one whose specialty was luck magic.

Mpendwa danced through life like a leaf on the breeze, becoming the leader after he lucked into becoming the apprentice of the last. He utilized luck enchantments on weapons to somehow make them hit more often, was best friends with all of the remarkable and talented shamans of his time, and once fell off a building into the loving arms of his eventual soulmate.

All of which simply does not make any sense at all. Luck is not a thing that exists; we are simply objects interacting in space. Luck is an illusion born from blindness, and as soon as you see, you can see the factors that lead to everything happening. Storms do not approach because the gods are angry at us, if you have a humidometer you can predict oncoming storms. Everything that will happen or has happened has already been determined. So the idea that you can make something lucky is absurd!

I tried to find his luck enchantments in the book so that I could study how the spells functioned since they obviously did something, perhaps limited omnscience. But I couldn’t find even a lick of any of them. Which is quite strange since the tradition was to leave behind any new runes you make into the book.

But after considering the insight Patient Bridge gave me into perspective perhaps since I can’t cast the spells, the book doesn’t give me the spells. Although that does make me think of what other types of spells I am unable to do.

For example if I were entirely unable to cast heat spells, how would that work? Would I be angerless? Additionally, I could most likely still create heat from friction which I could create with a non-anger spell. So what does having the wrong perspective actually do?

Considering the logical limits of the barrier, I might be able to twist around its restrictions. A spell that would allow me to return home would be something akin to a teleport, and while I can’t cast the spell that’s already been made that returns me, I have already found a rune that can teleport objects and theoretically people. The Home rune from what I remembered teleported around the plate that it was attached to.

So while I might not be able to even touch the spells that are disavowed from me, I might be able to do similar things with other spells. Plus, even if I can’t do so, the research into how teleportation works and how I can grasp space will allow me to understand when people are lying to me by understanding the underpinings of any spell they might create. Or create something that I might be able to sell for knowledge or goods.

Although that does make me wonder, how does trade even work in the Astral Plane? Can you trade emotions, power, concepts, or do I have to worry about the price of a loaf of bread in a place where hunger is foreign? Hells, what value would any of my creations even have?

The histories in my spellbook describe themselves as unique, but they are most likely biased towards themselves. Making a magical item seems fairly simple; you simply store the energy of a specific spell in an item that uses it slowly instead of in a burst.

I bet I could make a rudimentary enchantment without language magic by making a spell that contains heat then pumping heat into that spell to store heat. Perhaps I could trick myself with a hermetic seal by expecting it to perfectly contain heat, and then sticking in a red hot ingot?

I shake my head, for that’s awfully off topic, although my question still stands: is there a market, and if so are my abilities in high or low demand? I can’t know for sure until I find such a market, but if I do I need to quickly find my value so I’m not scammed.

I sigh, I guess it all comes down to the lack of trust between strangers. I believe in the kindness of sentience since it’s a far more useful strategy than cruelty, but the same as everyone else I fear the blades that have already touched my skin.

Well, before I can pontificate on the nature of vulnerability and such, I would need to find such a magical market. I know there are wondrous things to find here in the astral. My own language magic, which I cherish for its versatility, was found while exploring.

And any treasures I find would mean more goodies to sell at any prospective markets. Or function as new tools for my goals. Hells, when you consider the lack of magic back home, there’s a decent chance that they exploited a natural portal for travel and then figured out how to utilize it through rigorous research.

Yes, if I want to escape this rut, and walk free from this place, I must explore! Invigorated, I slip out of my throne of colorfill ribbons and push off of its steel frame, floating into the space between my station and the ice-covered planet of meat below.

Smiling despite the tears that crust my face, I say, “I shall not rot in despair here; instead, I shall venture out, talk to some spirits who aren’t horribly evil, and -”

I turn to the side as I hear a grating voice interupt my little speech to say “That sounds dazzling great spirit above and below, but we were wondering if you could help us out.”