For centuries scholars and mages have been brusquely picking apart anything that people of faith once claimed were miracles. They preach that the more they understand of the fixed laws of the Mundas, the more they can prove that what we once called miracles are no longer contrary to those laws, but only contrary to what they know about those laws.
And yet they live in a world where simple grass can be a million shades of green. Where the sun rises every day and moons every night. Where flowers that are sustained by the sun and rain turn into fruit that in-turn sustains each and everyone of us. Yet it impresses them not, for they claim they can recreate these elements with ritual and spell.
But for those of us that fought at the battle for the Planar Vortex, just to be alive at all is proof of miracle enough. For what truly is a miracle but a spark of light when you are expecting only darkness.