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Dia’s brown eyes glaze over into milky white. Her magic is one of the strangest—and most useful—I’ve ever encountered. She’s a weather mage who, by some twist of family lineage, rather than being able to control the weather, has precognition linked specifically with weather patterns. We’re almost never caught unawares in a storm because she’s on board.
I stand next to her and smoke for a few more minutes, watching the sky grow darker and more violent.

