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had not come, but he was busy, Galen supposed, with all that had happened. Still, Galen was anxious to speak with him. Of all the mages, he was the one most likely to understand.

Fed set the tray on his bare dresser and stood over him. "Hey. You're looking a lot better." He said that every day.

With a thought, a platform took shape beneath Galen, bent to raise his head and shoulders.

"Don't need me to rearrange your pillows anymore, huh?"

Galen curled to one side as pressure closed around his heart. He found himself gasping with quick, shallow breaths, his heartbeat stumbling, as it had when the Eye's jaundiced web had collapsed, as it had been doing since, more and more often.

"What is it?" Fed hovered anxiously over him.

He broke into a sweat, his heartbeat erratic, tumbling.

"Galen," Fed said louder. "Are you all right?"

Finally, the pressure eased, and his heart fell into a pounding beat. After a few moments, he nodded.

"Don't scare me like that." Fed studied him. "You sure?"

Galen moved swollen, flaky lips. "Not really."

Fed gave a nervous laugh, pulled up the chair from his desk, dropped into it. "I need to rest."

Galen could see no change in Fed, none of the joy he had felt in joining with the tech, or the newfound sense of purpose. "It didn't work," he said.

"I tried, Galen. So have others. But you're sounding awfully Vorlon these days. When I tell them they have to conjure nothing, they don't understand. Hell, I don't understand. To cast a spell, I have to think about something. We all do it differently. I think of movement, of a line in my mind tracing out what I want to happen. If I imagine just a stationary point, that conjures a fireball. I don't know how to think of nothing. I mean I do, that's what I do all the time,
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