He could not look away. For fifteen years he had trekked across deserts and mountains, dark forests and frozen tundra to find this place. Standing on a stone lip made of granite and mortar, Anias was bathed in light coming from the swirling blue vortex that was the Well of Vulgaris. Power emanated from the well and sent vibrations through his body. The vibrations were powerful enough that they could be felt on the surface of the earth hundreds of feet above. His cloak billowed in the air rushing around the room. So like water was the flowing magic, that he had to resist the urge to reach down and dip his hand in it. It was nothing as benign as water, but raw power, the very fabric of existence. With such had the universe been forged and refined. The well was a focus, and functioned much like a bowl left to collect water after a morning dew. In the same the well could collect the excess of power radiating from the surrounding world. It was pure magic, as the plebeians would call it, though it was nothing so simple nor cliché. For nearly a thousand years had the well been distilling hesh’iash, the stuff of existence, from its surroundings. The well was nearly overflowing. So dangerous it was, and so tempting to tap its unlimited power. Such a thing hadn’t been attempted since before the Last War, and he was not about to walk flippantly into such a dangerous endeavor. The histories hinted at the fate awaiting those who dabbled in the craft of sorcery. Despite his skill, Anias could control magic about as well as a fly could control the wind with its wings. Turning, he left the glow of the room and its temptations behind. More study would be needed. For now, having found the well was enough.
Edited.