Worldbuilding Series II

Part II: Magic, Technology & Limits

What can’t your world do?

So many systems and solutions

Across Science Fiction and Fantasy, you’ll see common genre examples like wizards casting spells and drinking potions of arcane resilience or spaceborn soldiers fighting in low-gravity in mechsuits with laser rifles. To me (and any other fan of the two genres), magic and technology are f**king cool. They’re the spice and seasoning of the stories I read. 

Magic and technology as tools characters use to solve problems are nothing new. From a worldbuilding perspective, magic and technology are not just flavour, but also problem-solving frameworks. They define what’s possible, what’s efficient, and what’s tempting. They also define what’s easy, and that’s where things can go sideways. As an author, it’s my job to create depth and tension with these frameworks. Because if everything can be solved with these tools…nothing really matters.

As readers, we tend to see magic and technology used in roughly three ways:

1. Surface level

2. Explored

3. Limits (and breaking them)

Surface level

At the surface level, certain levels of magic and technology exist because of genre expectations. They’re there serving as flavour and largely unquestioned. 

This can work if:

• The author wants to focus elsewhere in the story, and it’s not about the systems themselves

• Things are pretty simple, and depictions are kept straightforward

In Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, we’re dropped into a world where magic just happens and we don’t know how magic is generated or the nuances or limits of spellcasting outside ‘they need a wand’. The story is focused on Harry, his friendships, discovery, and conflict.

Where surface-level implementation tends to fail:

• If magic or technology can save the day at any time

In Ready Player One, the virtual-reality system OASIS has few limits; it can instantly generate and allow anything. This leads to readers (myself included) asking questions like “why didn’t they just get one of those guns/weapons/vehicles/powers?” and then watching tension and immersion bleed out of the plot to the point of waiting for what the OASIS will allow to happen next instead of how the characters navigate the rules of the world.

Exploring

Magic and technology at the exploring level are complex and grounded. Each is more of a real-world process with its own layers:

• Costs (mental strain, sickness, or vulnerability while casting or hacking into a digital system)

• Constraints (level of proficiency required for certain spells, or to handle advanced weapons, or transportation technology that is unable to operate under certain conditions)

• Dependencies (an advanced city’s power grid may be taken out through cascading failure if enough distributed pressure is applied)

• Side effects (addiction to the arcane, shortened lifespan)

These layers generate narrative friction, which is a driver of storytelling. They also ground the world in which the story takes place.

In The Name of the Wind, the magic system is treated like a structured, almost scientific discipline. It has clear rules, requires training, and comes with very real costs (mental strain, energy transfer, risk of failure). Characters don’t just use magic; they study it, struggle with it, and sometimes get it wrong. The system has constraints (you can’t create energy out of nothing), skill barriers (knowledge and precision matter), and consequences (mistakes can be dangerous or fatal). In that book, magic feels grounded and integrated into the world, rather than a convenient tool. When problems arise, the question isn’t “can magic fix this?” but “can it be used effectively, safely, and at an acceptable cost?”

Limitbreaker

When magic and technology stop being just tools or window dressing, they can be used as themes. A well-defined limit says “This is the edge of the possible,” and characters can then be pushed against the edge, forced to work around the limit, or even break past it.

Breaking limits in stories can be exciting, high-stakes, and game-changing moments for readers when done well. Authors shouldn't spam it, though. It has to feel earned: transcending a magical paradigm at the cost of irreparable bodily harm; a hidden flaw in a system that shatters society’s trust; or the revelation that rules or orders were built on lies used to manage the populace.

When I say 'spam' I mean where books can go wrong in breaking magical and technological systems is an ongoing escalation solely for ‘stakes’ and ‘plot progress’. Bigger and more powerful spells, or faster and faster ships, lead to an empty literary arms race.

Ideally, you have limits established early (readers should know roughly what is possible in the world). Things are consistent (limits need to hold up against the events of the story until they might be broken). Breaking limits says something (meaningful character or world development that changes the story). Then, I think personally this is the most important, the balance between consequences vs clean wins (for every action there should be a reaction, and not a ‘get out of jail free’ scenario).

It's so tempting...

Temptation hides underneath magic and technology, too. The more powerful they are, the more likely and often characters will want to use them. Tension is created. Authors can then hit the reader with things like ends justifying the means, and who should have access to these systems? For those that do get access, what are the long-term costs?

Magic and technology don’t exist in isolation, either. The two are intricately tied to power and control, where they operate inside other systems of access and authority. Here, magic and technology are again used as tools by those in power to maintain control, or, if the story focuses on it, those without power to wrestle it away.

My approach

I tend to build magic and technology with limits first, and capabilities second. What can’t be done tells me far more about a world than what can.

In Alkaline Dawn, technology has advanced far enough to keep people alive in increasingly hostile environments, but not enough to reverse the damage. Solutions are incremental, temporary, and often owned. Survival becomes an opportunity for those in power to leverage technology. Failure is slow and systemic.

In The Dreadlord’s Accountant, magic is powerful, visible, and deeply embedded in the ruling structure, but it’s not scalable in the way the ruling demonic houses would like. It can dominate, intimidate, and enforce, but it struggles with nuance: agriculture, logistics, disease.

All of this to say the systems that aren’t magical, like bureaucracy, trade, and human expertise, become critically important in the overall worldbuilding. In both cases, the interesting part isn’t the presence of magic or technology. It’s how my characters navigate the gap between what is promised and what can actually be achieved.

Limits matter

For me (and I’m not alone here), magic and technology are some of the most fun aspects of speculative fiction. They’re flashy, captivating, and often used as a shorthand to compare against other books in the genres. Stories that don’t have limits risk their worlds feeling flat, but for those that have them get to play with tension, consequence, and ingenuity.

Characters make decisions because nothing comes easy, and there’s no ‘instant win’ option. And when victory is earned through that process and the world has been changed in some way, the reader is left far more satisfied with the book in front of them.