Wisdom of Ages

The triple-blue pip in the cost is the real statement here: seven mana, but three of them locked to a single color, so this is a payoff written explicitly for the deck already knee-deep in Islands and spell counts. Mass instant-and-sorcery recovery is old ground; the twist is what rides along. Emptying your graveyard back into hand is the kind of refuel that usually bleeds cards to the discard step on the crackback, which is exactly what the second clause forecloses: no maximum hand size for the rest of the game, and the spell exiles itself so it never becomes fuel to loop back. That self-exile is the honest bookkeeping of the design. It marks the effect as a one-time reset button rather than an engine, a decisive push instead of a recurring value loop. What it rebuilds is not a board but a grip: a spellslinger deck that has spent its ammunition gets the whole arsenal back at once and keeps it, no longer forced to dump overflow at the cleanup step in the turns that follow. The permanent hand-size clause is the piece doing quiet long-game work, turning the recursion from a one-turn burst into a standing exemption that pays off on every draw thereafter. The card is built for the hoarder, the deck that would rather sit on a full hand than fire everything the moment it arrives.