“Magic isn’t real” you say. But different schools of magic used for narrative purposes do exist, if only in literature. There’s Cthonic magic, the mysterious, cultish magic of the underworld found in Greek mythology. The subtle and understated (and most commonly copied) magic of Tolkien, and whatever hot mess we’re calling the nonsense they use in Harry Potter. And then there’s Vancian magic.
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The dungeon is lit by flickering torchlight. The stone walls are cold to the touch and etched with strange runes of a forgotten language. This ancient tomb has not been disturbed by the outside world for centuries. A halfling rogue has carefully disarmed the traps littering the hallway so that they and their compatriots can reach the resting place of the cursed sarcophagus. All the traps save one. As the unseen axe descends to slice the unwitting rogue in half, a sudden, blinding light fills the dim passageway. The axe stops inches from the halflings neck and clatters to the ground. A wizard holds their hand out, their mind now blank of the very spell they just cast. They must study the spell once more and magically sear it into their memory if they wish to cast it again. But their sacrifice was worth it, the party is safe.