Ruins - 8

He stepped through the dusty ruins, panes of dirty brown glass littered the streets. Abandoned cars rusted away, their paint long gone. The air was perfectly still, unmoving. His feet left clear prints in the dirt behind him. Motes of silver magic drifted slowly past him. He extended his arm and one collided with his finger, sending a tingle creeping through his body. The mote silently popped, leaving a slight smell that was quickly whipped away by a nonexistent breeze.