This story seeks to address two things.

One: My detestably rusty writing skills.
Two: The odd lack of history & lineage I've found in the treatment of magic in most stories. It is usually meant to be something storied and ancient, yet it often lacks the deep roots of irl mystical and even scientific practices.
Be it building houses, cooking pasta or making methamphetamine — Everything draws upon a rich history of cooperation, conflict and sometimes just plain stealing in order to create a world as rich as ours.