"The people who come here lose their powers. That's not just 'suddenly magic doesn't work'. Or 'the way you use magic doesn't work here.' The only way to stop my magick is to literally --" His hands unfolded, slapping down on the desk for emphasis. "Destroy a part of me. Like spiritual lobotomy. And believe you me, I'd know if that happened. And there are others who've lost something inherent to them, part of their very essence. Like shapeshifting, for example. And the things we come with?"

He reached over his back, hooked the hilt of his sword with one thumb, and drew it just far enough to show off the dull-gold blade.

"This material is Primium. Long story short, it literally can't exist without being antimagical, and yet here it is, existing without being antimagical." Morgan let it fall back into its sheath, lowering his hand again.

"So here we are, in the center of frozen time and space. Allegedly, we've been drawn in from our unmoving existence. We all have magic, and that magic is defined distinctly -- two types, with hard limits. Now, saying all that, what's more likely? That we're actually us, body and soul, just somehow those bodies and souls and accompanying items have been changed in fundamental and impossible ways... or that we're something else? Projections. Impressions. Copies. Parts of our souls in bodies that were created the same way this world once was. Something like that."