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He's tired, beyond tired, really, stumbling, barely keeping his feet. But.
But he hasn't messed up today, hasn't gained any unwanted attention. Which means he can collapse in the small room that is 'his'. Barely more than a cupboard with a blanket, but at least it has a door. He's stumbled in, and closed the door behind him before he realises that this is not the room. This is-
He looks around the room wildly, with no idea how to actually...process this.
This seems like the time for an appropriately choreographed hug, then!
"Most magic isn't evil in nature," she says, gently, "I've seen a lot of worlds, and Tycho here can sense things about what's around him. Your magic doesn't feel evil at all, or even particularly dangerous to me." That's not entirely true, he doesn't feel like he could harm her as he is, but her constantly running don't-get-injured Way has added 'be cautious' as a tag for him, so.
He seems a little startle and confused by the hug, but once he realises it isn't hurting, he leans a little into her.
"O-oh," he says. Pauses. "Is there a lot of other magic?"
"Yes, lots, in many different worlds. Most have one kind, though a few have multiple systems working together. Do you want to hear about some of the ones I've encountered?"
She starts to spin a tale about a grand empire where nearly everyone has magic, where artisans build fountains that run uphill, where the towers of the grand capital city float above themselves, where noble dragons live alongside magicians capable of altering reality with a word. Where there's a city under a thousand skies, the parts linked by magical mirrors. Where all sorts gather from the myriad worlds that are part of that empire - beholders and giants, many-winged birds and willowy singers, intelligent cats that walk on two legs and horses that walk on eight, dogs that only leave footprints in stone and mice that walk on water, women who can turn into beautiful swans or seals or buffalo, mermaids and sirens...
Nova is clearly fascinated and enthralled, listening raptly as she spins her tales, a smile growing on his face.
"I've met people from that world, stuck my head in once. It seems nice, as worlds go."
"Do you want to hear more about that world, or something about another?"
A story about a smaller world, then - a dragon as large as a planet, soaring through the endless void. About the people who've made a living on her, relying on the fires in her belly for heat in their sunless existence, and who measure the years by the dragon's slow breath. How the people live, what they make their houses of, the animals they herd and hunt. How the very air is magic, the people breathing in potential and out form.
More worlds, then, a thousand places she's seen with Tycho or just glimpsed or even heard gossip of, places strange and familiar, places with magic or with nothing but the ingenuity of their inhabitants...
He doesn't know how to respond to all of this. It's beyond anything he could ever imagine. He is, a little, overwhelmed, by just how much else there is out there.
"You want to take a break for a bit? Tell me about your world, maybe? Or you? Or we can just sit, I admit I'm overfond of talking at times."
He thinks for a moment, and then starts to describe it - the greyness of the predawn, and the way the horizon seems to light on fire as the sun rises, how blue it is on a clear day, and the way it seems almost purple when a storm's brewing, and the dark peacefulness of the star-studded night.
She's appropriately fascinated.
"What does the air taste like?" she asks then.
"Worlds, and places in them, often have different tastes. It's... Interesting," she says in way of explanation.
"Yeah. Like salt, or smoke, or different soils or leaves. Scents, too, and sounds, and the air feels different often..."
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